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THE CARBONELS. 


By the Same Author. 


THE COOK AND THE CAPTIVE. Price $1.25. 

THE TREASURES IN THE MARSHES. Price 

$ 1 . 00 . 

THE CROSS-ROADS; or, A Choice in Life. Price 
$1.25. 

THE CONSTABLE’S TOWER; or, The Times of 
Magna Charta. Price $1,00. 

THE SLAVES OF SABINUS. Price $1.25. 

THE CUNNING WOMAN’S GRANDSON : A Story 
of Cheddar a Hundred Years Ago. Price $1.25. 

UNDER THE STORM ; or. Steadfast’s Charge. Price 
$1.25. 

OUR NEW MISTRESS; or. Changes at Brookfield 
Earl. Price $1.00. 


Thomas Whittaker, 2 and 3 Bible House, New York. 





THE CLERK IS FORCED TO PRESERVE ORDER. 




THE CARBONELS 


BY 

' CHARLOTTE M. YONGE 

>1 

AUTHOR OF 

“the heir of redclyffe,” “the slaves of sabinus,” etc. 


“God hath sown, and He will reap, 
Growth is slow when roots are deep; 

He will aid the work begun 
For the love of His dear Son." 

» Keble 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. S. STACEY 



SEP 171895 






NEW-YORK 

THOMAS WHITTAKER 

2 AND 3 BIBLE HOUSE 

1895 



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Copyright, 1895, 

By Thomas Whittaker. 






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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. French Measure i 

II. The Lie of the Land ii 

III. The Turnip-field 29 

IV. Nobody’s Business 42 

V. At Home 52 

VI. The Neighborhood 63 

' VII. Sunday-school 74 

VIII. Mary’s Approach 83 

IX. The Screen ’ 98 

X. Innovations iii 

XI. An Unprofitable Crop 121 

XII. Prizes 135 

XIII. Against the Grain 143 

XIV. An Offer Rejected 153 

XV. Scales of Justice 166 

XVI. Linch-pins 174 

XVII. Progress or No Progress 187 

XVIII. The Threshing-machine — 197 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. A Night Journey 205 

XX. The Royal Hotel 218 

XXI. Jack Swing 232 

XXII. Great Mary and Little Mary 241 

XXIII. The Machine 251 

XXIV. Misjudged 266 

XXV. Judith 276 

XXVI. The Golden Chains . 286 

XXVII. Missed ‘and Mourned 291 

Conclusion 296 


r- 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

The Clerk is Forced to Preserve Order Frontispiece 

“Captain Carbonel, I Believe?” said Dr. Fogram.. 85 

Pleading for Mercy for their Husbands 170 

“D’ye Want to Bespeak the Best Apartments?” .. 219 
The Arrival of the Yeomanry 258 


vii 




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THE CARBONELS. 


CHAPTER 1 . 

FRENCH MEASURE. 

For thy walls a pretty slight drollery. 

The Second Part of King Henry IV. 

BAD lot. Yes, sir, a thoroughly bad 
lot.” 

“ You don’t mean it.” 

“Yes, ma’am, a bad lot is the Uphill people. 
Good for nothing and ungrateful! I’ve known 
them these thirty years, and no one will do any- 
thing with them.” 

The time was the summer of 1822. The place 
was a garden, somewhat gone to waste, with a 
gravel drive running round a great circle of peri- 
winkles with a spotted aucuba in the middle. 
There was a low, two-storied house, with green 



WE CARBOMELS. 


shutters, green Venetian blinds, and a rather 
shabby veranda painted in alternate stripes of light 
and darker green. In front stood a high gig, with 
a tall old bony horse trying to munch the young 
untrimmed shoots of a lilac in front of him as he 
waited for the speaker, a lawyer, dressed as coun- 
try attorneys were wont to dress in those days, in 
a coat of invisible green, where the green con- 
stantly became more visible, brown trousers, and 
under them drab gaiters. He was addressing a 
gentleman in a blue coat and nankeen trousers, 
but evidently military, and two ladies in white 
dresses, narrow as to the skirts, but full in the 
sleeves. One had a blue scarf over her shoulders 
and blue ribbons in her very large Leghorn bon- 
net; the other had the same in green, and like- 
wise a green veil. Her bonnet was rather more 
trimmed, the dress more embroidered, the scarf of 
a richer, broader material than the other’s, and it 
was thus evident that she was the married sister; 
but they were a good deal alike, with the same 
wholesome, smooth complexion, brown eyes, and 
hair in great shining rolls under their bonnet-caps, 
much the same pleasant expression, and the same 
neat little feet in crossed sandaled shoes and white 


FRENCH MEASURE. 


3 


stockings showing out beneath their white tam- 
bour-worked gowns. 

With the above verdict the lawyer made his 
parting bow and drove off along a somewhat 
rough road through two pasture- fields. The first 
gate, white and ornamental, was held open for him 
by an old man in a short white smock and long 
leathern gaiters, the second his own servant 
opened, the third was held by half a dozen shock- 
headed children, with their backs against it and 
hands held out, but in vain; he only smacked his 
driving- whip over their heads, and though he did 
not strike any of them, they requited it with a 
prolonged yell, which reached the ears of the trio 
in front of the house. 

I’m afraid it is not far from the truth,” said 
the green lady. 

Oh no; I am sure he is a horrid man,” said 
her blue sister. “ I would not believe him for a 
moment.” 

Only with a qualification,” rejoined the gentle- 
man. 

But, Edmund, couldn’t you be sure that it 
is just what he would say, whatever the people 
were? ” 


4 


. TUB CARBOmtS, ^ 


I am equally sure that the exaction of rents is 
not the way to see people at their best.” 

“ Come in, come in! We have all our settling 
in to do, and no time for you two to fight.” 

Edmund, Mary, Dorothea, and Sophia Carbonel 
were second cousins, who had always known one 
another in the house of the girls’ father, a clergy- 
man in a large country town. Edmund had been 
in the army just in time for the final battles of the 
Peninsular War, and had since served with the 
army of occupation and in Canada. He had always 
meant that Mary should be his wife, but the means 
were wanting to set up housekeeping, until the 
death of an old uncle of his mother’s made him heir 
to Greenhow Farm, an estate bringing in about 
five hundred pounds a year. Mary and her 
next sister, Dora, had in the meantime lost their 
parents, and had been living with some relations 
in London, where their much younger sister, Sophy, 
was at school, until Edmund, coming home, looked 
over the farm, decided that it would be a fit home 
for the sisters, and retired from the army forthwith. 
Thus, then, after a brief tour among the Lakes, 
they had taken up Dora in London, and here they 
were ; Sophy was to join them when the holidays 


PRENCH measure. 


began. Disorder reigned indeed within, and ham- 
mers resounded, nor was the passage easy among 
the packing-cases that encumbered the narrow 
little vestibule whence the stairs ascended. 

Under the veranda were the five sash-windows 
of the three front rooms, the door, of course, in 
the middle. Each had a little shabby furniture, 
to which the Carbonels were adding, and meant 
to add more. The dining-room had already been 
papered with red flock in stripes, the drawing-room 
with a very delicate white, on which were traced, 
in tender coloring, baskets of vine-leaves and 
laburnums. 

Dora gave a little scream. “ Look ! Between 
the windows, Mary ; se6, the laburnums and 
grapes are hanging upward.” 

'^Stupid people!” exclaimed Mary; “I see. 
Happily, it is only on that one piece; but how 
Edmund will be vexed!” 

“ Perhaps there is another piece unused.” 

“ I am sure I hope there is! Don’t you know, 
Edmund fell in love with it at Paris. It was his 
first provision for future housekeeping, and it was 
lying laid up in lavender all these years till we 
were ready for it.” 


6 


CARBONELS. 


“ It is only that one division, which is a com- 
fort.” 

“ What’s the matter? ” And the master of the 
house came in. 

” Senseless beings ! It must be covered directly. 
It is a desight to the whole room. Here ! ” and 
he went out to the carpenter, who was universal 
builder to the village, and was laying down the 
stair-carpet. “ Here, Hewlett, do you see what 
you have done ? ” 

Hewlett, a large man with a smooth, plump, 
but honest face, came in, in his shirt-sleeves, apron, 
and paper cap, touched his forehead to the ladies, 
stood, and stared. ^ 

''Can’t you see?” sharply demanded the 
captain. 

Hewlett scratched his head and gazed round. 

" See here ! How do grapes grow ? Or labur- 
nums?” 

An idea broke in on him. 

"What! they be topsy-turvy?” he slowly ob- 
served, after looking from the faulty breadth to 
the next. 

" Of course they are. Find the rest of the 
paper! We must have a piece put on at once, or 


PreMch MEASURP. 


1 


the whole appearance of the room is spoiled,” said 
Captain Carbonel. “ It will make a delay, but it 
must be done at once. Where is the piece left 
over? ” 

Hewlett retreated to find it, while the captain 
said something about “ stupid ass.” 

Presently his gruff voice was heard demanding, 

Dan, I say, where’s the remnant of that there 
fancy paper? ” 

Dan’s answer did not rise into audible words, 
but presently Hewlett tramped back, saying, 
“There ain’t none, sir.” 

“ I tell you there must be,” returned the cap- 
tain, in the same angry tones. And he proceeded 
to show that the number of pieces he had bought, 
and the measure of which he had ascertained, was 
such that there ought to have been half a piece 
left over from papering the room, the size of which 
he had exactly taken. Hewlett could do nothing 
but stolidly repeat that “ there weren’t none left, 
not enow to make a mouse’s nest.” 

“ Who did the papering? Did you ? ” 

“ Daniel Hewlett, sir, he did the most on it. 
My cousin, sir.” 

The captain fell upon Daniel, who had more 


8 


THE cARBONEL^, 


words at command, but was equally strong in 
denial of having any remnant. “ They had only 
skimped out enough,” he said — “just enough for 
the walls, and it was a close fit anyhow.” 

The captain loudly declared it impossible, but 
Mary ran out in the midst to suggest that may- 
hap the defect was in the French measure. Each 
piece might not have been the true number of 
whatever they called them in that new revolution- 
ary fashion. 

Dan Hewlett’s face cleared up. “ Aye, ’tis the 
French measure, sure, sir. Of course they can’t 
do nothing true and straight! I be mortal sorry 
the ladies is disappointed, but it bain’t no fault of 
mine, sir.” 

“ And look here, Edmund,” continued Mary, 
“ it will not spoil the room at all if Mr. Hewlett 
will help move the tall bureau against it, and we’ll 
hang the ' Death of General Wolfe ’ above it, and 
then there won’t be more than two bits of labur- 
num to be seen, even if you are curious enough 
to get upon a chair to investigate.” 

“Well, it must be so,” returned Captain Car- 
bonel, “but I hate the idea of makeshifts and 
having imperfections concealed.” 


FRENCH MEASURE. 


9 


“Just like you, Edmund,” laughed Dora. 
“ You will always seem to be looking right through 
at the upright sprays, though all the solid weight 
of Hume, Gibbon, and Rollin is in front of 
them.” 

“ Precisely,” said Edmund. “ It is not well to 
feel that there is anything to be hidden. The 
chief part of the vexation is, however,” he added, 
shutting the door and lowering his voice, “ that I 
am convinced that there must have been foul play 
somewhere.” 

“O Edmund! French measure! ” 

“ Nonsense ! That does not account for at least 
a whole piece disappearing.” 

He took out a pencil and went again into his 
calculations, while his sister-in-law indignantly 
exclaimed : 

“ It is all prejudice because that horrid attorney 
said all these poor people were a bad lot.” 

“Hush, hush!” said Mrs. Carbonel, rather 
frightened, and — 

“ I advise you to think before you speak,” said 
Captain Carbonel, quietly but sternly. 

Still Dora could not help saying, as soon as she 
was alone with her sister, “ I shall believe in the 


lO 


THE CARBONELS. 


French measure. I like that slow, dull man, and 
I am sure he is honest.” 

“Yes, dear; only pray don’t say any more to 
Edmund, but let us get the bookcase placed as 
fast as we can, and let him forget all about it.” 


f 



I 


CHAPTER 11. 


THE LIE OF THE LAND. 

Thank 'you, pretty cow, that gave 
Pleasant milk to soak my bread, 

Every day and every night 
Warm and fresh, and sweet and bright. 

J. Taylor. 

ARKNESS had descended before there 
had been time to do more than shake 
into the downstairs rooms and bedrooms 
and be refreshed with the evening meal ; but with 
morning began the survey of the new home. 

The front part of the house had three living- 
rooms, with large sash-windows, almost to the 
ground, shaded by the veranda. These were 
drawing-room, dining-room, and study, the last 
taken out of the entry, where was the staircase; 
and there were three similar rooms above. These 
had been added by the late owner to the original 
farm-house, with a fine old-fashioned kitchen that 



II 


12 


THE CARBONELS, 


sent Mary and Dora into greater raptures than 
their cook. There were offices around, a cool 
dairy, where stood great red glazed pans of deli- 
cious-looking cream and milk, and a clean white 
wooden churn that Dora longed to handle. The 
farm-house rooms were between it and the new 
ones, and there were a good many rooms above, 
the red- tiled roof rising much higher than that of 
the more modern part of the house. There was 
a narrow paling in front, and then came the farm- 
yard, inclosed in barns, cow-houses, and cart- 
sheds, and a cottage where the bailiff. Master 
Pucklechurch, had taken up his abode, having 
hitherto lived in the farm-house. He was waiting 
to show Captain Carbonel over the farm. He was 
a grizzled, stooping old fellow, with a fine, hand- 
some, sunburned face, bright, shrewd dark eyes 
looking out between puckers, a short white smock- 
frock, and long gaiters. It was not their notion 
of a bailiff ; but the lawyer, who was so chary of 
his praise, had said that old Master Pucklechurch 
and his wife were absolutely trustworthy. They 
had managed the farm in the interregnum, and 
brought him weekly accounts in their heads — for 
neither could write — with the most perfect regu- 


THE LIE OF THE LAND. 


3 


larity and minuteness. And his face did indeed 
bespeak confidence in his honesty, as he touched 
his hat in answer to the greeting. 

The ladies, however, looked and smelled in 
some dismay, for the center of the yard was a 
mountain of manure and straw, with a puce- 
colored pond beside it. On the summit of the 
mountain a handsome ruddy cock, with a splendid 
dark-green arched tail, clucked, chuckled, and 
scratched for his speckled, rose-crowned hens; a 
green-headed, curly-tailed drake steered forth 
his fleet upon the lake ” of brown ducks and their 
yellow progeny ; and pigs of the plum-pudding 
order routed in the intermediate regions. The 
road which led to the cart-sheds and to the house 
skirted round this unsavory tract. 

O Edmund! ” sighed Mary. 

Farmer’s wife, Mary,” said her husband, smil- 
ing. It ought to be a perfect nosegay to you.” 

I’m sure it is not wholesome,” she said, look- 
ing really distre.ssed; and he dropped his teasing 
tone, and said : 

Of course it shall be remedied! I will see to 
it” 

A dismal screeching and cackling here attracted 


4 


THE CARBONELS. 


the attention of the sisters, who started toward 
Pucklechurch’s cottage and the fowl-house (a very 
foul house, by the by), in front of which, on a low 
wooden stool, sat a tidy old woman — Betty Puckle- 
church in fact — in a tall muslin cap, spotted ker- 
chief, blue gown, and coarse apron, with a big girl 
before her holding the unfortunate hen whose cries 
had startled them. 

Oh, don’t go near! She is killing it,” cried 
Dora. 

“No;” as the hen, with a final squawk, shook 
out her ruffled feathers and rushed away to tell 
her woes to her companions on the dunghill, while 
the old woman jumped up, smoothed down her 
apron, and courtesied low. 

“What were you doing?” asked Mary, still 
startled. 

“ Only whipping her breast with nettles, ma’am, 
to teach her to sit close in her nest, the plaguy 
thing, and not be gadding after the rest.” 

“Poor thing! ” cried Dora. “But oh, look, 
look, Mary, at the dear little chickens! ” 

They were in the greatest delight at the three 
broods of downy little chickens, and one of duck- 
lings, whose parent bens were clucking in coops ; 


THE LIE OF THE LAND. 


5 


and in the kitchen they found a sickly one nursed 
in flannel in a basket, and an orphaned lamb, 
which staggered upon its disproportionate black 
legs at sight of Betty. 

“ Aye, he be always after me,” she said. 

They terrify one terrible, as if ’twas their mother, 
till they can run with the rest.” 

Dora would have petted the lamb, but it re- 
treated from her behind Betty’s petticoats; and 
she could only listen to Mary’s questions about 
how much butter was made from how many cows’ 
milk, and then be taken to see the two calves, one 
of which Betty pronounced to be “ but a stagger- 
ing Bob yet, but George Butcher would take he in 
a sennight,” which sounded so like “ senate ” that it 
set Dora wondering what council was to pronounce 
on the fate of the poor infant bull. 

Over his stall Edmund found them, after an 
inspection of the pigsties, and having much 
offended Master Pucklechurch by declaring that 
he would have them kept clean, and the pigs no 
longer allowed to range about the yard. 

Bless you, sir, the poor things would catch 
their death of cold and die,” was the answer to 
the one edict; and to the other, They’d never 


i6 


THE CARBONELS, 


take to their victuals nor fat kindly without their 
range first.” 

“Then let them have it in the home field out 
there, where I see plenty of geese.” 

“They’ll spile every bit of grass, sir,” was the 
growling objection. And still worse was the sug- 
gestion, which gradually rose into a command, 
that the “ muck-heap ” should be removed to the 
said home field, and never allowed to accumulate 
in such close proximity to the house. 

Pucklechurch said little ; but his “ If it be your 
will, sir,” sounded like a snarl, and after ruminat- 
ing for some time he brought out — as if it were an 
answer to a question about the team of horses — 
“ We’ll have to take on another boy, let be a man, 
if things is to be a that ’en a.” 

“ Let us, then,” said the captain, and joined his 
ladies, with the old man depressed and grumbling 
inwardly. 

There was an orchard preparing to be beautiful 
with blossom, and a considerable kitchen-garden 
at the back and on the other side of the house, 
bounded by an exceedingly dirty and berutted 
farm road, over which the carriage had jolted the 
evening before. The extensive home field in front 


THE LIE OF THE LAND. 


7 


was shut off from the approach by a belt of ever- 
greens, and sloped slightly upward toward the hill 
which gave the parish its name. 

‘"We will cut off a nice carriage road,” said 
Mary, as she looked at it. 

“ All in good time,” replied her husband, not 
wishing further to shock poor Master Puckle- 
church, who had to conduct the party to the 
arable fields — one of which was being plowed by 
three fine sleek horses, led by Bill Morris, with his 
father at the shafts. In another their approach 
was greeted by hideous yells and shouts which 
made Dora start. 

“ Aye, aye,” said Pucklechurch, “ he knows how 
to holler when he see me a-coming;” and at the 
same time a black-specked cloud of rooks rose up 
from the furrows, the old man stamping toward the 
boy who ought to have been keeping them, vituper- 
ating him in terms that it was as well not to hear. 

And it was such a tiny boy after all, and in such 
a pair of huge boots with holes showing his bare 
toes! However, they served him to run away 
from Master Pucklechurch into the farthest ditch, 
and if the ladies had designs on him, they had to 
be deferred. 


i8 


THE CARBONELS. 


On the opposite side were more fields, with 
crops in various stages, one lovely with the grow- 
ing wheat and barley, another promising potatoes, 
and another beans ; and beyond, toward the river, 
were meadows parted by broad hedge-rows, with 
paths between, in which a few primroses and 
golden celandines looked up beneath the withy 
buds and the fluttering hazel catkins. Then came 
the meadows, in one of which fed the cows, pretty 
buff-and- white creatures; and in another field 
were hurdled the sheep, among their dole of tur- 
nips, sheep and turnips alike emitting an odor of 
the most unpleasant kind; and the deep bass of 
the ewes and the thinner wail of the lambs made 
a huge mass of sounds ; while Captain Carbonel 
tried to talk to Master Buttermere, the shepherd, 
a silent, crusty, white-haired old man in a green 
smock and gray old coat, who growled out scarcely 
a word. 

So the tour of the property was made, and 
old Pucklechurch expressed his opinion. “ He’ll 
never make nothing of it; he is too outlandish 
and full of his fancies, and his madam’s a fine lady. 
’Pon my word and honor, she was frought at that 
there muck-heap! ” 


THE LIE OF THE LAND. 


9 


This pleasant augury was of course not known 
to the new-comers, who found something so hon- 
est and worthy about the Pucklechurches that 
they could not help liking them, though Mrs. 
Carbonel had another tussle with Betty about 
fresh butter. “ It war no good to make it more 
than once a week. Folk liked it tasty and mel- 
ler;” and that the Carbonels had by no means the 
same likings made her hold up her hands and 
agree with her husband that their failure was cer- 
tain. These first few days were spent in the 
needful arrangements of house and furniture, dur- 
ing which time Captain Carbonel came to the 
conclusion that no one could be more stupid or 
awkward than Master Hewlett, but that he was an 
honest man and tried to do his best, such as it 
was ; while his relation, Dan, though cleverer, was 
much more slippery, and could not be depended 
upon. Dora asked Master Hewlett what schools 
there were -in the place, and he made answer that 
the little ones went in to Dame Verdon; but she 
didn’t make much of it, not since she had had the 
shaking palsy, and she could not give the lads the 
stick. He thought of sending his biggest lad to 
school at Poppleby next spring, but ’twas a long 


20 


THE CARBONE LS. 


way, and his good woman didn’t half like it, not 
unless there was some one going the same way. 

Betty Pucklechurch’s account amounted to 
much the same. ‘'Dame Verdon had had the 
school nigh about forty years. She had taught 
them all to read their Testament — all as stayed 
long enough, for there was plenty for the children 
to do ; and folks said she wasn’t up to hitting them 
as she used to be.” 

Farmer Goodenough, the churchwarden, who 
came to see Captain Carbonel about the letting of 
a field which was mixed up with the Greenhow 
property, gave something of the like character. 

“ She is getting old, certain sure ; but she is a 
deserving woman, and she keeps off the parish.” 

“ But can she teach the children?” 

“ She can teach them all they need to know, 
and keep the little ones out of mischief,” said the 
farmer, perhaps beginning to be alarmed. “No 
use to learn them no more. What do they want 
of it for working in the fields or milking the 
cows?” 

“ They ought at least to know their duty to 
God and their neighbor,” said Captain Carbonel. 
“ Is there no Sunday-school ? ” 


THE LIE OF THE LAND. 21 

“ No, sir ” — very bluntly. “ I hear talk of such 
things at Poppleby and the like,” he added, “ but 
we don’t want none of them here. The lot here 
are quite bad enough, wjthout maggots being put 
into their heads.” 

Captain C^rbonel did not wish to continue the 
subject. The farmer’s own accent did not greatly 
betoken acquaintance with schools of any sort. 

Of course the wife and sister were amused as 
well as saddened by his imitative account of the 
farmer’s last speech, but they meant to study the 
subject on their first Sunday. They had learned 
already that Uphill Priors was a daughter church 
to Downhill Priors, and had only one service on a 
Sunday, alternate mornings and evenings. The 
vicar was the head of a house at Oxford, and only 
came to the parsonage in the summer. The ser- 
vices were provided for by a curate, living at 
Downhill, with the assistance of the master of a 
private school, to whom the vicarage was let. 
When Captain Carbonel asked Master Puckle- 
church about the time, he answered, ” Well, sir, 
’tis morning churching. So it will be half-past 
ten, or else eleven, or else no time at all.” 

“ What, do you mean that there will be none? ” 


22 


THE CARBONELS. 


No, sir. There will be churching sure enough, 
but just as time may chance, not to call it an hour. 
Best way is to start as soon as you sights the par- 
son a-coming past the gate down there. Then 
you’re sure to be in time. Bell strikes out as soon 
as they sees him beyond the ‘ Prior’s Lane.’ ” 

The Carbonels, in Sunday trim, with William, 
the man-servant, and two maids, their prayer- 
books in white pocket-handkerchiefs, following in 
the rear, set forth for the gate, in the spring fresh- 
ness. The grass in the fields was beginning to 
grow up, the hedges were sprouting with tender 
greens and reds, the polished stems of the celan- 
dine were opening to the sunshine in the banks, 
with here and there a primrose. Birds were sing- 
ing all round, and a lark overhead — most delight- 
ful pleasures to those so long shut up in a town. 
It was the side of a hill, where the fields were cut 
out into most curious forms, probably to suit the 
winding of a little brook or the shape of the 
ground ; and there were, near the bottom, signs of 
a mass of daffodils, which filled the sisters with 
delight, though daffodils were not then the fashion, 
and were rather despised as yellow and scentless. 

As they came near the second gate they saw a 


THE UE OF THE LAND. 


23 


black figure go by on an old white horse ; then 
they came out on a long ascending lane with deep 
ruts, bordered by fresh soft turf on either side, 
with hawthorn hedges, and at intervals dark yew- 
trees. 

A cracked bell struck up, by which they under- 
stood that the clergyman had come in sight, and 
they came themselves out upon a village green, 
where geese, donkeys, and boys in greenish smock- 
frocks seemed to be all mixed up together. 
Thatched cottages stood round the green, and a 
public-house — the Fox and Hounds.” The sign 
consisted of a hunt, elaborately cut out in tin, 
huntsman, dogs, and fox rushing across from the 
inn on a high-uplifted rod of iron, fastened into a 
pole on the farther side of the road, whence the 
sound of the bell proceeded, and whither the con- 
gregation in smock-frocks and black bonnets were 
making their way. 

Following in this direction, the Carbonels, much 
amused, passed under the hunt, went some dis- 
tance farther, and found a green churchyard, quite 
shut in by tall elm-trees, which, from the road, 
almost hid the tiny tumble-down church, from 
whose wooden belfry the call proceeded. It really 


24 


THE CARBONELS. 


seemed to be buried in the earth, and the little 
side windows looked out into a ditch. There 
were two steps to go down into the deep porch, 
and within there seemed to be small space be- 
tween the roof and the top of the high square pew 
into which they were ushered by Master Hewlett, 
who, it seemed, was the parish clerk. 

They saw little from it, but on one side, hung 
from the roof, a huge panel with the royal arms, 
painted in the reign of William and Mary, as the 
initials in the corners testified, and with the lion 
licking his lips most comically ; on the other side 
was a great patch of green damp ; behind, a gal- 
lery, full of white smock-frocked men with their 
knees thrust through the rails in front. Immedi- 
ately before them rose the tall erection of pulpit, 
the fusty old cushion and tassels, each faded to 
a different tint, overhanging so much that Dora 
could not help thinking that a thump from an 
energetic preacher would send it down on Ed- 
mund’s head in a cloud of dust. There was the 
reading-desk below, whence the edges of a ragged 
prayer-book protruded, and above it presently 
appeared a very full but much-frayed surplice, 
and a thin, worn face between white whiskers. 


THE LIE OE THE LAND. 


25 


The service was quietly and reverently read, but 
not a response seemed to come from anywhere 
except from Master Hewlett’s powerful lungs, 
somewhere in the rear, and there was a certain 
murmur of chattering in the chancel, followed 
by a resounding whack. Then Master Hewlett’s 
head was seen, and his steps heard as he tramped 
along the aisle and climbed up the gallery stairs 
as the General Thanksgiving began, and there he 
shouted out the number of the psalm, new ver- 
sion ” — that is, from Brady and Tate — which 
every one had bound up with the Prayer-book. 
Then a bassoon brayed, and a fiddle squealed, and 
the psalm resounded with hearty good will and 
better tone than could have been expected. 

Master Hewlett stayed to assist in the second 
singing, and the children, who sat on low forms 
and on the chancel step, profited by it to make 
their voices more audible than the commandments, 
though the clergyman had not gone to the altar; 
and once in the course of the sermon Captain 
Carbonel was impelled to .stand up and look over 
the edge of the pew, when he beheld a battle 
royal going on over a length of string, between a 
boy in a blue petticoat and one in a fustian jacket. 


26 


THE CARBONELS. 


At the unwonted sight the fustian-clad let go, and 
blue-petticoat tumbled over backward, kicking up 
a great pair of red legs, gray socks, and imper- 
fect but elephantine boots, and howling at the 
same time. The preacher stopped short ; the clerk 
had by this time worked his way down from the 
gallery, and, collaring both the antagonists, hauled 
them out into the churchyard, the triple stamping 
being heard on the pavement all the way. The 
sermon was resumed and read to its conclusion. 
It was a very good one, but immensely beyond 
the capacity of the congregation, and Mary Car- 
bonel had a strong suspicion that she had heard it 
before. 

It was only on coming out that any notion could 
be gathered of the congregation. There were a 
good many men and big boys, in smocks, a few 
green, but most of them beautifully white and 
embroidered ; their wearers had sat without books 
through the whole service, and now came out with 
considerable trampling. 

The pews contained the young girls in gorgeous 
colors, the old women, and the better class of 
people, but not many of them, for the petit noblesse 
of Uphill were very petit indeed, in means and 


THE LIE OE THE LAND. 


27 


numbers; but their bonnets were enormous, and 
had red or purple bows standing upright on them, 
and the farmers had drab coats and long gaiters. 
The old dames courtesied low, the little girls stared, 
and the boys peeped out from behind the slanting 
old headstones and grinned. Some of them had 
been playing at marbles on the top of the one square 
old monument, until routed by Master Hewlett on 
his coming out with the two combatants. 

Captain Carbonel had gone round to the vestry 
door to make acquaintance with the clergyman, 
though Farmer Goodenough informed him in an 
audible whisper, He ain’t the right one, sir; he 
be only schoolmaster.” 

And when the two met at the door, and the 
captain shook hands and said that they would be 
neighbors, he was received with a certain hesitat- 
ing smile. 

I should tell you, sir, that I am only taking 
occasional duty here — assisting. I am Mr. Atkins. 
I have a select private academy at the vicarage, 
which the president of St. Cyril’s lets to me. He 
is here in the summer holidays.” 

I understand. The curate lives at Downhill,” 
said Captain Carbonel, 


28 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ At the priory, in fact, with his father’s family. 
Yes, it is rather an unfortunate state of affairs,” 
he said, answering the captain’s countenance rather 
than his words ; but I have no responsibility. I 
merely assist in the Sunday duty; and, indeed, I 
advise you to have as little to do with the Uphill 
people as possible. An idle, good-for-nothing 
set! Any magistrate would tell you that there’s 
no parish where they have so many up before 
them.” 

“No wonder! ” said Captain Carbonel, under his 
breath. 

“ A bad set,” repeated Mr. Atkins, pausing at 
the shed where his old gray horse was put up ; 
and there they parted. 

The captain and his wife and her sister walked 
to Downhill, two miles off, across broad meadows, 
a river, and a pretty old bridge, the next Sunday 
morning, found the church scantily filled, but with 
more respectable-looking people, and heard the 
same sermon over again, so that Mary was able to 
identify it with one in a published volume. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE TURNIP-FIELD. 

You ask me why the poor complain, 

And these have answered thee. 

Southey. 

ULLO, Molly Hewlett! Who’d ha’ 
thought of seeing you out here?” 

It was in a wet turnip- field, and a 
row of women were stooping over it, picking out 
the weeds. The one that was best off had great 
boots, a huge weight to carry in themselves; but 
most had them sadly torn and broken. Their 
skirts, of no particular color, were tucked up, and 
they had either a very old man’s coat, or a smock- 
frock cut short, or a small old woolen shawl, which 
last left the blue-and-red arms bare; on their 
heads were the oldest of bonnets, or here and 
there a sun-bonnet, which looked more decent. 
One or two babies were waiting in the hedge-side 
in the charge of little girls. 



29 


30 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ Molly Hewlett ! ” exclaimed another of the set, 
straightening herself up. “ Why, I thought your 
Dan was working with Master Hewlett for they 
Gobblealls ” (which was what Uphill made of Car- 
bonel). 

“ So he be ; but what is a poor woman to do 
when more than half his wage goes to the ‘ Fox 
and Hounds,’ and she has five children to keep, 
and my poor sister not able to do a turn? 
There’s George Hewlett, grumbling and growling 
at him, too, and no one knows how long he’ll 
keep him on.” 

“ What ! George, his cousin, as was bound to 
keep him on? ” 

“ I don’t know ; George is that particular him- 
self, and them new folks, Gobbleall, as they call 
them, are right down mean, and come down on 
you if they misses one little mossle of parkisit; 
and there’s my poor sister to keep, as is afflicted 
and can’t do nothing!” 

“ But she pays you handsome,” said Betsy 
Seddon, “and looks after the children besides.” 

“Pays, indeed! Not half enough to keep her, 
with all the trouble of helping her about! Not 
that I grudges it, but she wants things extry, you 


THE TURNIP-FIELD. 


31 


see, and Dan he don’t like it. But no doubt the 
ladies will take notice of her.” 

'' I thought the lady kind enough,” interposed 
another woman. ” She noticed how lame our 
granny was with the rheumatics, and told me to 
send up for broth.” 

We wants somewhat bad enough,” returned 
another thin woman, with her hand to her side. 
“ Nobody never does nothing for no one here!” 

” Nor we don’t want no one to come worriting 
and terrifying,” cried the last of the group, with 
fierce black eyes, and rusty black hair sticking out 
beyond her man’s beaver hat, tied on with a yel- 
low handkerchief. Always at one about church 
and school, and meddling with everything — the 
ribbon on one’s bonnet, and to the very pots on 
the fire. I knows what they be like in Tydeby! 
And what do you get by it but old cast clothes 
and broth made of dish- washings ? ” She enforced 
all this with more than one word not to be written. 

“I know I’d be thankful for that!” murmured 
the thin woman, who looked as if she had barely 
a petticoat on, and could have had scarcely a 
breakfast. 

“ Oh, we all knows Bessy Mole is all for what 


32 


THE CARBONELS. 


she can get!” said the independent woman, tossing 
her head. 

“ And had need to be,” returned Molly Hewlett, 
in a scornful tone, which made the poor woman in 
question stoop all the lower and pull her ground- 
sel more diligently. 

''The broth ain’t bad,” ventured she who had 
tried it. 

" I shall see what I can get out of them,” added 
another. " I bain’t proud ; and my poor children’s 
shoes is a shame to see.” 

"You’ll not get much,” said Molly Hewlett, 
with a sniff. " Why, the captain, as they calls 
him, come down on my Jem, as was taking home 
a little bit of a chip for the fire, and made him put 
it down, as cross as could be.” 

" How now, you lazy, trolloping, gossiping 
women I What are you after ? ” 

Farmer Goodenough was upon them; and the 
words he showered on them were not by any 
means "good enough” to be* repeated here. He 
stormed at them for their idleness so furiously as 
to set off the babies in the hedge screaming and 
yelling. Tirzah Todd, the gipsy-looking woman, 
whom he especially abused, tossed her head and 


THE TURNIP-FIELD. 


33 


tharched off in the midst, growling fiercely, to 
quiet her child ; and he, sending a parting impre- 
cation after her, directed his violence upon poor 
Bessy Mole, though all this time she had been 
creeping on, shaking, trembling, and crying, under 
the pelting of the storm ; but, unluckily, in her 
nervousness and blindness from tears, she pulled 
up a young turnip, and the farmer .fell on her and 
rated her hotly for not being worth half her wage, 
and doing him more harm than good with her 
carelessness. She had not a word to say for her- 
self, and went on shivering and trying to check 
her sobs while he shouted out that he only em- 
ployed her from charity, and she had better look 
out, or he should turn her off at once. 

O sir, don’t!” then came out with a burst of 
tears. “ My poor children — ” 

'' Don’t go whining about your children, but let 
me see you do your work.” 

However, this last sentence was in a milder 
tone, as if the fit of passion had exhausted itself ; 
and Mr, Goodenough found his way back to the 
path that crossed the fields, and went on. Tirzah 
Todd set her teeth, clenched her fist, and shook it 
after him, while the other women, as soon as he 


34 


THE CARBONELS. 


was out of sight, began to console Bessy Mole, 
who was crying bitterly and saying “ what would 
become of her poor children and her own poor 
father?” 

“ Never you mind, Bessy,” said Molly Hewlett; 

every one knows as how old Goodenough’s bark 
is worse than his bite.” 

He runs out and it’s over,” put in Betsy Sed- 

don. 

“ I’m sure I can hardly keep about, anyway,” 
sobbed the widow. “ My inside is all of a quake. 
I can’t abide words.” 

“ Ten to one he don’t give you another sixpence 
a week, after all,” added Nanny Barton. 

“ He ain’t no call to run out at one,” said 
Tirzah, standing upright and flourishing her baby. 

I’d like to give him as good as he gave, an old 
foul-mouthed brute!” 

Look there! There’s the ladies coming,” ex- 
claimed Nanny Barton. 

I thought there was some reason why he 
stopped his jaw so soon,” exclaimed Molly, stoop- 
ing down and pulling up weeds (including turnips) 
with undiscerning energy, in which all the others 
followed her example, except Tirzah, who sulkily 


THE TURNIP-FIELD. 


35 


retreated under the hedge with her baby, while 
Jem Hewlett and Lizzie Seddon ran forward for 
better convenience of staring. It was a large field, 
and the party were still a good way off ; but as it 
sloped downward behind the women, the farmer 
must have seen them a good deal before the 
weeders had done so. 

These, be it remembered, were days when both 
farmers and their laborers were a great deal 
rougher in their habits than we, their grandchil- 
dren, can remember them ; and there was, besides, 
the Old Poor Law, which left the amount of relief 
and of need to be fixed at the vestry meetings by 
the ratepayers themselves of each parish alone ; so 
that the poor were entirely dependent on the good 
will or judgment of their employers, whose minds 
were divided between keeping down the wages 
and the rates, and who had little of real principle 
or knowledge to guide them. It was possible to 
have recourse to the magistrates at the Petty Ses- 
sions, who could give an order which would over- 
ride the vestry ; but it was apt to be only the 
boldest, and often the least deserving, who could 
make out the best apparent cases for themselves, 
that ventured on such a measure. 


36 


THE CARBONELS, 


The two ladies stopped and spoke to Molly 
Hewlett and Nanny Barton, whom they had seen 
at their doors, and who courtesied low; and 
Nanny, as she saw Mrs. Carbonel’s eyes fall on 
her boots, put in : 

“ Yes, ma’am, ’tis bitter hard work this cold, 
damp weather, and wears out one’s shoes ter’ble. 
These be an old pair of my man’s, and hurts my 
poor feet dreadful, all over broken chilblains as 
they be; and my fingers, too,” she added, spread- 
ing out some fingers the color of beet-root, with 
dirty rags rolled round two of them. 

Dora shrank. “ And you can go on weeding 
with them ? ” 

"‘Yes, ma’am. What can us do, when one’s 
man gets but seven shillings a week? And I’ve 
had six children and buried three;” and her face 
looked ready for tears. 

“ Well, we will come and see you, and try to 
find something to help you,” said Mrs. Carbonel. 
“ Where do you live? ” 

Out beyond the church, ma’am — a long way 
for a lady.” 

Oh, we are good walkers.” 

“ And please, my lady,” now said Molly, com- 


THE turnip-field. 


^1 


ing to the front, “ if you could give me an old bit 
of a pelisse, or anything, to make up for my boy 
there. He’s getting big, you see, and he is terri- 
ble bad off for clothes. I don’t know what is to 
be done for the lot of ’em.” 

Dora had recognized in the staring boy, who 
had come up close, him who had made the com- 
motion in church ; and she ventured to say, I 
remember him. Don’t you think if you or his 
father kept him with you in church he would 
behave better there ? ” 

Bless you, miss, his father is a skeptic. I can’t 
go while I’ve got no clothes — nothing better than 
this, miss ; and I always was used to go decent 
and respectable. Besides, I couldn’t nohow take 
he into the seat with me, as Master Pucklechurch 
would say I was upsetting of his missus.” 

Well, I hope to see him behave better next 
Sunday.” 

Do you hear, Jem ? The lady is quite shocked 
at your rumbustiousness! — But ’twas all Joe 
Saunders’s fault, ma’am, a-terrifying the poor 
children. His father will give him the stick, that 
he will, if he hears of it again.” 

Meantime Mrs. Carbonel had turned to Widow 


38 


THE CARBONELS. 


Mole, who, after her first courtesy, had been 
weeding away diligently and coughing. 

“Where do you live?” she asked. “I don’t 
think I have seen you before.” 

“ No, ma’am,” she said, quietly. “ I live down 
the Black Hollow.” 

“You don’t look well. Have you been ill? 
You have a bad cough.” 

“ It ain’t nothing, ma’am, thank you. I can 
keep about well enough.” 

“ Do you take anything for it? ” 

“A little yarb-tea at night sometimes, ma’am.” 

“ We will try and bring you some mixture for 
it,” said Mrs. Carbonel. And then she spoke to 
Betsy Seddon, who, for a wonder, had no request 
on her tongue, and asked her who the other 
woman was, in the hedge with the baby. 

“ That’s Tirzah Todd, ma’am,” began Mrs. Sed- 
don ; but Molly Hewlett thrust her aside, and went 
on, being always the most ready with words: 
“ She is Reuben Todd’s wife, and I wouldn’t wish 
to say no harm of her, but she comes of a gipsy 
lot, and hasn’t never got into ways that us calls 
reverend, though I wouldn’t be saying no harm of 
a neighbor, ma’am.” 


THE TURNIP-FIELD. 39 

“ No, you’d better not,” exclaimed a voice, for 
Tirzah was nearer or had better ears than Mrs. 
Daniel Hewlett had suspected, ” though I mayn’t 
go hypercriting about and making tales of my 
neighbors, as if you hadn’t got a man what ain’t 
to be called sober twice a week.” 

“Hush! hush!” broke in Mrs. Carbonel; “we 
don’t want to hear all this. I hope no one will 
tell us unkind things of our new neighbors, for we 
want to be friends with all of you, especially with 
that bright-eyed baby. How old is it? ” 

She made it smile by nodding to it, and Tir- 
zah was mollified enough to say, “ Four months, 
ma’am ; but she have a tooth coming.” 

“ What’s her name ? ” 

Tirzah showed her pretty white teeth in a smile. 
“ Well, ma’am, my husband he doth want to call 
her Jane, arter his mother, ’cause ’tis a good short 
name; but I calls her Hoglah, arter my sister as 
died.” 

“ Then she hasn’t been christened ? ” 

“ No. You see we couldn’t agree, nor get gos- 
sips; and that there parson he be always in such 
a mighty hurry, or I’d ’a’ had her half baptized 
Hoglah, and then Reuben he couldn’t hinder it.” 


40 


THE CAkBOHELS. 


Tirzah was getting quite confidential to Mrs* 
Carbonel, and Dora, meantime, was talking to 
Molly Hewlett ; but here it occurred to the former 
that they must not waste the women’s time, and 
they wished them good-by, Dora fearing, how- 
ever, that there would be a quarrel between 
Tirzah and Molly. 

Oh dear! oh dear!” she sighed. “Couldn’t 
you make peace between those two?” she said. 
“They will fight it out.” 

“No; I think the fear of the farmer and the 
need of finishing their work will avert the storm 
for the present at least,” said Mary, “ and I 
thought the more I said, the worse accusations I 
should hear.” 

“But what people they are! I do begin to 
believe that attorney man, that they are a bad lot.” 

“ Don’t be disheartened, Dora ; no one has tried 
yet, apparently, to do anything for them. We 
must try to see them in their own homes.” 

“ Beginning with Mrs. Seddon. She was quiet 
and civil, and did not beg.” 

“ Neither did that thin little woman. I should 
like to give her a flannel petticoat. There is a 
look of want about her.” 


THE TURNIP-FIELD. 


4 


“ But I’m most taken with the wild woman, 
with the teeth and the eyes, and the merry smile. 
I am sure there is fun in her.” 

“Little enough fun, poor things!” sighed Mrs. 
Carbonel. 

She was more used to poor people. She had 
more resolution, though less enthusiasm, than her 
sister. 


CHAPTER IV. 


nobody’s business. 




HE sisters found, on coming home, that 
a very handsome chestnut horse was 
being walked up and down before the 


front door, and their man-servant, William, in- 
formed them that it belonged to the clergyman. 

As they advanced to the veranda. Captain Car- 
bonel and his visitor came out to meet them, and 
Mr, Ashley Selby was introduced. He looked 
more like a sportsman than a clergyman, except 
for his black coat ; he had a happy, healthy, sun- 
burned face, top-boots, and a riding-whip in his 
hand, and informed Mrs. Carbonel that his father 
and mother would have the honor of calling on 
her in a day or two. They had an impression 


42 


NOBODY^ S BUSINESS. 


43 


that he had come to reconnoiter and decide 
whether they were farmers or gentry. 

“We have been trying to make acquaintance 
with some of your flock,” said Mary. 

“ The last thing I would advise you to do,” he 
answered ; “ there are not a worse lot anywhere. 
Desperate poachers! Not a head of game safe 
from them.” 

“ Perhaps they may be improved.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “ See what my 
father has to say of them.” 

“ Is there much distress? ” 

“ There ought not to be, for old Dr. Fogram 
and my father send down a handsome sum for 
blankets and coals every Christmas, and Uphill 
takes care to get its share!” He laughed. “No 
sinecure distributing!” 

“ We have not been to see the school yet.” 

“ A decrepit old crone, poor old body ! She 
will soon have to give in. She can’t even keep 
the children from pulling off her spectacles.” 

“ And Sunday-school ? ” 

“ Well, my father doesn’t approve of cramming 
the poor children. I believe the Methodists have 
something of the kind at Downhill; but there is 


44 


THE CARBONELS, 


no one to attend to one here, and the place is quite 
free of dissent.” 

“Cause and effect?” said Captain Carbonel, 
dryly. 

“ Would you object if we tried to teach the 
poor children something?” asked Mrs. Carbonel, 
cautiously. 

“ Oh no, not at all. All the good ladies are 
taking it up, I believe. Mrs. Grantley, of Pop- 
pleby, is great at it, and I see no harm in it; but 
you’ll have to reckon with my father. He says 
there will soon be no plowmen, and my mother 
says there will be no more cooks or housemaids. 
You’d better write to old Fogram; he’ll back you 
up.” 

Mary had it on her lips to ask him about Widow 
Mole, but he had turned to Edmund to discuss 
the hunting and the shooting of the neighborhood. 
They discovered, partly at this time and partly 
from other visitors, that he was the younger son 
of the squire of Downhill, who had been made to 
take holy orders without any special fitness for it, 
because there was a living likely soon to be ready 
for him; and in the meantime he was living at 
home, an amiable, harmless young man, but bred 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


45 


up so as to have no idea of the duties of his voca- 
tion, and sharing freely in the sports of his family, 
acting as if he believed, like his father, that they 
were the most important obligations of man ; and 
accepting the general household belief that only 
the Methodistical could wish for more religious 
practice. 

Be it understood that all this happened in the 
earlier years of the century, and would be impos- 
sible under the revival of the church that has since 
taken place. No one now can hold more than one 
piece of preferment at a time, so that parishes 
cannot be left unprovided. Nor could Ashley 
Selby be ordained without a preparation and ex- 
amination which would have given him a true idea 
of what he undertook, or would have prevented 
his ordination. This, however, was at a time 
when the work of the church had grown very 
slack, and when a better spirit was beginning to 
revive. The father of Mary and Dora had been 
a zealous and earnest man, and both they and 
Edmund had really serious ideas of duty and of 
the means of carrying them out. In London they 
had heard sermons which had widened and deep- 
ened their views, but they had done no work, as 


46 


THE CARBONELS. 


the relation with whom they lived thought it im- 
possible and improper for young ladies there. 

Thus they were exceedingly desirous of doing 
what they could to help the place where their lot 
was cast, and they set forth to reconnoiter. First 
they found their way to the school, which stood 
on the border of the village green, a picturesque 
thatched cottage, with a honeysuckle and two tall 
poplars outside. But strange sounds guided them 
on their way, and the first thing they saw was a 
stout boy four or five years old, in petticoats, 
bellowing loudly outside, and trying to climb the 
wicket-gate, which was firmly secured by a rusty 
chain. Mary tried to undo the gate, speaking 
meanwhile to the urchin; but he rushed away 
headlong back into the school, and they heard 
him howling, They bees a-coming!” 

A big girl in a checkered pinafore came out and 
made a courtesy, assisting to undo the chain. 

“What has he been doing?” asked Dora. 

“ He be a mortial bad boy!” answered the girl. 
“ He’ve been getting at Dame Verdon’s sugar.” 

“And what is your name?” asked Mrs. Car- 
bonel. 

“ Lizzie Verdon, ma’am. I helps granny,” 


NOBODY^ S BUSINESS. 


47 


Granny did seem ifi need of help. There she 
sat in a big wooden chair by the fire, the very 
picture of an old dame, with a black bonnet, high- 
crowned, and crescent-shaped in front, with a 
white muslin cap below, a buff handkerchief 
crossed over her shoulders, a dark short-sleeved 
gown, long mittens covering her arms, and a 
checkered apron ; a regular orthodox birch-rod by 
her side, and a black cat at her feet. But her 
head was shaking with palsy, and she hardly 
seemed to understand what Lizzie screamed into 
her ear, that “ here was the ladies.” 

But the door, which they had shut in the face 
of their spaniel, was thrust open. Up went the 
cat’s back, bristle went her tail, her eyes shot 
sparks, and she bounded to the top of her mis- 
tress’s chair. Dandy barked defiance, all the 
children shouted or screamed and danced about, 
and the old woman gasped and shook more. 
Lizzie alone was almost equal to the occasion. 
She flew at the cat, which was standing on tiptoe 
on the tall back of the chair, with huge tail and 
eyes like green lamps, swearing, hissing, and spit- 
ting, and, regardless of scratches, caught him up 
by the scruff of his neck and disposed of him 


48 


THE CARBONELS. 


behind the staircase door ; while Dora at the same 
moment secured Dandy by the collar, and rushing 
out, put him over the garden- gate and shut both 
that and the door. Mary, afraid that the old lady 
was going to have a fit, went up to her with sooth- 
ing apologies ; but the unwonted sight seemed to 
confuse her the more, and she began crying. 
Lizzie, however, came to the rescue. She 
evidently had all her wits about her. First she 
called out: “ Order, children! Don’t you see the 
ladies? — Sit down, Jem Hewlett, or I’ll after you 
with the stick!” Then, as the children ranged 
themselves, she stamped at some to enforce her 
orders, shook the rod at others, and set up the 
smallest like so many ninepins — handling them by 
the shoulder — on one small bench, interspersing the 
work with consolations to granny and explanations 
to the ladies, who were about to defer their visit. 

“ Granny, now never you mind. Tip is all 
right upstairs. — Benny, you bad boy. I’ll be at 
you. — Don’t go, please, lady. — Bet, what be doin’ 
to Jim? — Never mind, granny! — Susan Puckle- 
church, you’ll read to the lady, so pretty.” 

About five children, more tidily dressed than 
the others, had a whole and sound form to them- 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


49 


selves near the fire and the mistress. The other 
two benches were propped, the one on two blocks 
of wood, the other on two sound and two infirm 
legs, and this was only balanced by a child at each 
end, so that when one got up the whole tumbled 
down or flew up ; but the seat was very low, and 
the catastrophe generally produced mirth. 

Susan Pucklechurch, granddaughter to the old 
bailifT and his Betty, was evidently the show 
scholar. ‘‘ She be in her Testament, ma’am,” 
explained Lizzie ; and accordingly a terribly 
thumbed and dilapidated New Testament was put 
into the child’s hand, from which she proceeded 
to bawl out, with long pauses between the words, 
and spelling the longest, a piece of the Sermon 
on the Mount, selected because there were no 
names in it. It was a painful performance to 
reverent ears, and as soon as practicable Mrs. 
Carbonel stopped it with “ Good child ! ” and a 
penny, and asked what the others read. Those 
who were not 'Gn the Testament” read the 
“ Universal Spelling-book,” provided at their own 
expense, but not in much better condition; and 
from this George Hewlett, son and heir to the 
carpenter, and a very different person from his 


50 


THE CARBONELS. 


cousin Jem, read the history of the defense of that 
city where each trade offered its own commodity 
for the defense, even to the cobbler, who proposed 
to lay in a stock of good 1-e-a-t-h-e-r— lather ! 

These, and three little maidens who had picture 
spelling-books not going beyond monosyllables, 
were the aristocracy, and sat apart, shielded from 
the claws and teeth of their neighbors, in consider- 
ation of paying fourpence, instead of twopence, a 
week. The boy was supposed to write large let- 
ters on a slate, and the bigger girls did some 
needlework, and not badly — indeed, it was the 
best of their performances. The dame went on 
mumbling and shaking all the time, and it was 
quite evident that she was entirely past the work, 
and that Lizzie was the real mistress ; indeed, Mrs. 
Carbonel was inclined to give her credit for a cer- 
tain talent for teaching and keeping order, when 
the sisters emerged from the close little oven of a 
place, hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry, 
but full of great designs. 

Captain Carbonel, however, to their disappoint- 
ment, advised them to wait to set anything on 
foot till Dr. Fogram, the president of St. Cyril’s, 
came down in the summer holidays, when counsel 


NOBODY'S BUSINESS. 


51 


could be taken with him, and there would be more 
knowledge of the subject. Dora did not like this 
at all. She was sure that the Son of Mist, as she 
was naughty enough to call the doctor, would 
only hamper them ; and she was only half consoled 
by being told that there was no objection to her 
collecting a few of the children on Sunday and 
trying to teach them, and in the meantime 
acquaintance might be made with the mothers. 


CHAPTER V. 


AT HOME. 

Now I’ve gone through all the village, aye, from end to end, save 
and except one more house ; 

But I haven’t come to that, and I hope I never shall, and that’s 
the village poorhouse. 

T. Hood. 

OTTAGE-VISITING turned out to be a 
much-checkered affair. One of the first 
places to which the sisters made their 
way was the Widow Mole’s. They found it, 
rather beyond the church, down a lane, where it 
was hidden behind an overgrown thorn-hedge ; 
and they would scarcely have found it at all if a 
three-year-old child had not been clattering an old 
bit of metal against the bar put across to prevent 
his exit. He was curly and clean, except with the 
day’s surface dirt; but he only stared stolidly at 
the question whether Mrs. Mole lived there. A 
ten-year-old girl came out and answered the 
question. 



52 


AT HOME. 


53 


*'Yes, mother do live here, but her be out at 
work.” 

“Is that your grandfather?” as they Cctu^ -.L ^ 
sight of a very old man on a chair by the door in 
the sun. 

“ Yes, ma’am. Will you come in and see him ? ” 

He was a very old man, with scanty white hair, 
but he was very clean, and neatly dressed in a 
white smock, mended all over, but beautifully 
worked over the breast and cuffs, and long leather 
buskins. He was very civil, too. He took off his 
old straw hat, and rose slowly by the help of his 
stout stick, though the first impulse of the visitors 
was to beg him not to move. He did not hear 
them, but answered their gesture. 

“ I be so crippled up with the rheumatics, you 
see, ma’am,” and he put his knotted and con- 
tracted hand up to his ear. 

Mrs. Carbonel shouted into his ear that she was 
sorry for him. She supposed his daughter was 
out at work. 

“Yes, ma’am, with Farmer Goodenough — 
a-charing to-day it is.” 

“Washing,” screamed the little girl. 

“ She was off at five o’clock this morning,” he 


54 


THE CARBONELS, 


went on. She do work hard, my daughter Bess, 
and she’s a good one to me, and so is little Liz 
here. Thank the Lord for them.” 

And her husband is dead? ” 

*'Yes, ma’am. Fell off a haystack three years 
ago, and never spoke no more. We have always 
kept off the parish, ma’am. This bit of a cottage 
was my poor wife’s, and she do want to leave it 
to the boy ; but she be but frail, poor maid, and 
if she gave in, there’d be nothing for it but to 
give up the place and go to the workhouse; and 
there’s such a lot there as I could not go and die 
among.” 

He spoke it to the sympathizing faces not as 
one begging, and they found out that all was as 
he said. He had seen better days, and held his 
head above the parish pay, and so had his son-in- 
law ; but the early death of poor Mole, and the old 
man’s crippled state, had thrown the whole main- 
tenance of the family on the poor young widow, 
who was really working herself to death, while, 
repairs being impossible, the cottage was almost 
falling down. 

Oh, what a place, and what a dear old man!” 
cried the ladies, as they went out. ” Well, we can 


A T HOME. 5 5 

do something here. I’ll come and read to him 
every week!” exclaimed Dora. 

“ And I will knit him a warm jacket,” said 
Mary, and surely Edmund could help them to 
prop up that wretched cottage.” 

“ What a struggle their lives must have been, 
and so patient and good I Where ar^ we going 
now? ” 

“ I believe that is the workhouse, behind the 
church,” said Mary — “that rough-tiled roof.” 

“ It has a bend in the middle, like a broken 
back. I must sketch it,” said Dora. 

“ Why, there’s Edmund, getting over the 
churchyard stile.” 

“ Aye, he can’t keep long away from you. 
Madam Mary.” 

“Were you going to the workhouse?” said 
Captain Carbonel, coming up, and offering an arm 
to each lady, as was the fashion in those days. 

“ We thought of it. All the poorest people are 
there, of course.” 

“ And the worst,” said the captain. “ No, I 
will not have you go there. It is not fit for you.” 

For besides that he was very particular about 
his ladies, and had no notion of letting them go 


56 


THE CARBONELS. 


to all the varieties of evil where they could hope 
to do good, like the ladies of our days. The work- 
house was an utterly different place from the 
strictly disciplined union houses of the present 
Poor Law; each parish had its own, and that of 
Uphill had no master, no order, but was the 
refuge of all the disorderly, disreputable people 
who could not get houses or pay their rent, who 
lived in any kind of fashion, on parish pay and 
what they could get, and were under no restraint. 

While the captain was explaining to them what 
he had heard from Farmer Goodenough, a sudden 
noise of shouting and laughing, with volleys of evil 
words, was heard near the Fox and Hounds.” 

“What is that?” asked Dora of a tidy young 
woman coming her way. 

“That’s only the chaps at old Sam,” she 
answered, as if it were an ordinary sound. And 
on them exclaiming, she explained : “ Samson 

ganderson, that’s his name, sir. He be what they 
calls non compos, and the young fellows at the 
‘ Fox and Hounds ’ they have their fun out of he. 
They do bait he shameful.” 

Violent shouts of foul words and riotous 
laughter could be distinguished so plainly that 


AT HOME. 


57 


Captain Carbonel hastily thrust his wife and her 
sister into the nearest cottage, and marched into the 
group of rough men and boys, who stood holloing 
rude jokes, and laughing at the furious oaths and 
abuse, in intermittent gasps, with which they were 
received. 

“For shame!” his indignant voice broke in. 
“ Are you not ashamed, unmanly fellows, to treat 
a poor weak lad in this way ? ” 

There was a moment’s silence. Then a great 
hulking drover called out, “ Bless you, sir, - he 
likes it.” 

“ The more shame for you,” exclaimed the cap- 
tain, “ to bait a poor innocent lad with horrid 
blasphemy and profanity. I tell you every one 
of you ought to be fined!” 

The men began to sneak away from the indig- 
nant soldier. The poor idiot burst out crying and 
howling, and the hostler came forward, pulling his 
forelock, and saying, “You’ll not be hard on ’em, 
sir. ’Tis all sport. There, Sammy, don’t be 
afeard. Gentleman means you no harm.” 

Captain Carbonel held out some coppers, say- 
ing, “There, my poor lad, there’s something for 
you. Only don’t let me hear bad words again.” 


58 


THE CARBONELS. 


Sam muttered something and pulled his ragged 
hat forward as he shambled off into some back 
settlements of the public-house, while the hostler 
went on : 

’Tis just their game, sir! None of ’em would 
hurt poor Sam ! They’d treat him the next min- 
ute, sir. All in sport.” 

“ Strange sport,” said the captain, to teach a 
poor helpless lad, who ought to be as innocent as 
a babe, that abominable blasphemy.” 

“ He don’t mean naught, sir ! All’s one to he ! ” 

“ All the worse in those who do know better, I 
tell you ; and you may tell your master that, if this 
goes on, I shall certainly speak to the magistrates.” 

There was no need to tell the landlord, Mr. 
Oldfellow. The captain was plainly enough to 
be heard through the window of the bar. The 
drovers had no notion that their amusement was 
sinful, for it didn’t hurt no one,” and, in fact, 
“ getting a rise ” out of Softy Sam was one of the 
great attractions of the “ Fox and Hounds ” ; so 
that Mr. Oldfellow was of the same mind as Dan 
Hewlett, who declared that '' they Gobblealls was 
•‘plaguy to-ads of Methodys, and wasn’t to think 
to bully them about like his soldiers.” 


AT HOME. 


59 


They had another drink all round to recover 
from their fright, when they treated Softy Sam, 
but took care not to excite him to be noisy while 
the captain might be within earshot. 

The two ladies had meanwhile taken refuge in 
what proved to be no other than Mrs. Daniel 
Hewlett’s house, a better one, and less scantily 
provided with furniture, than the Widow Mole’s, 
but much less clean and neat. The door stood 
open, and there was a tub full of soapsuds within. 
The captain gave a low whistle to intimate his 
presence, and stood at the entrance. Unwashed 
dinner things were on a round table, a dresser in 
confusion against the wall, on another Moore's 
Almanac for some years past, full of frightful 
catastrophes, mixed with little French highly 
colored pictures of the Blessed Virgin. 

His wife and her sister were seated, the one on 
a whole straw chair, the other on a rickety one, 
conversing with a very neat, pale, and pleasant- 
looking invalid young woman, evidently little 
able to rise from her wooden arm-chair. Molly 
Hewlett, in a coarse apron, and a cap far back 
amid the rusty black tangles of her hair, her arms 
just out of the wash-tub, was in the midst of a 


6o 


THE CARBONELS. 


voluble discourse, into which the ladies would not 
break. 

‘‘ You see, ma’am, she was in a right good situ- 
ation, but she was always unlucky, and she had 
the misfortune to fall down the attic stairs with 
the baby in her arms.” 

“The baby was not hurt,” put in the invalid. 

“ Not it, the little toad, but ’twas saving he as 
ricked her back somehow, and made her a cripple 
for life, as you see, ma’am; and she was six 
months in the hospital, till the doctor he say as 
how he couldn’t do nothing more for her; so 
Hewlett and me we took her in, as she is my own 
sister, you see, and we couldn’t let her go to the 
workhouse ; but she do want a little broth or a 
few extries now and then, ma’am, more than we 
poor folks can give her.” 

“ My mistress is very good, and gives me a 
little pension,” put in the invalid, while her sister 
looked daggers at her; and Mrs. Carbonel, in 
obedience to her husband’s signal, took a hasty 
leave. 

“There now! That’s the way of you, Judith,” 
cried Molly Hewlett, banging the door behind 
them. “ What should you go for to tell the ladies 


AT HOME. 


6l 


of that pitiful pay of yours, but to spile all chance 
of their helping us, nasty, mean skinflints as they 
be!” 

” I couldn’t go for to deceive them,” humbly 
replied Judith, meek, but cowering under the 
coming storm. 

“Who asked you to deceive? Only to hold 
your tongue for your own good, and mine, and 
my poor children’s, that you just live upon. As 
if your trumpery pay was worth your board and 
all the trouble I has with you night and day, but 
you must come in and hinder these new folk from 
coming down liberal with your Methody ways and 
your pride! That’s it, your pride, ma’am. Oh, 
I’m an unhappy woman, between you and Dan! 
lam!” 

Molly sank into a chair, put her apron over her 
face, and cried, rocking herself to and fro, while 
Judith, with tears in her eyes, tried gentle con- 
solations all in vain, till Molly remembered her 
washing, and rose up, moaning and lamenting. 

Meantime Mrs. Carbonel and her sister were 
exclaiming in pity that this was a dear, good girl, 
though Edmund shook his head over her sur- 
roundings. 


62 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ I wonder how to make her more comfortable,” 
said Dora. “ She seemed so much pleased when 
I promised to bring her 'something to read.” 

I am afraid those Hewletts prey on her,” said 
Mary. 

And patronizing her will prove a complicated 
affair!” said the captain. 

He wanted them to come home at once, but on 
the way they met Nanny Barton, who began, with 
low courtesies, a lamentable story about her girls 
having no clothes ; and she would certainly have 
extracted a shilling from Miss Carbonel if the 
captain had not been there. 

Never accept stories told on the spur of the' 
moment,” he said. 

Then Betsy Seddon and Tirzah Todd came 
along together, bending under heavy loads of 
broken branches for their fires. Tirzah smiled as 
usual, and showed her pretty teeth ; but the cap- 
tain looked after her, and said, They have been 
tearing Mr. Selby’s woods to pieces.” 

“What can they do for firewood?” said his 
wife. 

“ Let us look out the rules of your father’s coal- 
store and shoe-club,” he said. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE NEIGHBORHOOD. 


Through slush and squad, 

When roads was bad. 

But hallus stop at the Vine and Hop. 

Tennyson. 



HROUGH all Pucklechurch’s objections 
and evident contempt for his fancies 
and those of young madam, Captain 
Carbonel insisted on the clearance of the yard. 
He could not agree with the old man, who made 
free to tell him that “ such as that there muck- 
heap was just a bucket to a farmer's wife, if she 
was to be called a farmer’s wife — was that it.” 

With some reflection Captain Carbonel decided 
that a bucket might mean a bouquet, and an- 
swered, Maybe she might have too much of a 
good thing. When I went down to Farmer 
Bell’s the other day they had a famous heap, and 
I was struck with the sickly look of his wife and 
daughters.” 


63 


64 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ His missus were always a poor, nesh ’ooman,” 
returned Pucklechurch. 

“ And I don’t mean mine to be like her if I can 
help it,” said the captain. 

But he did not reckon on the arrival of a pranc- 
ing pair of horses, with a smart open carriage, 
containing two ladies and a gentleman, in the 
most odorous part of the proceedings, when he 
was obliged to clear the way from a half-loaded 
wagon to make room for them, and, what was 
quite as inconvenient, to hurry up the back stairs 
to his dressing-room to take off his long gaiters, 
Blucher boots (as half-high ones were then called), 
and old shooting-coat, and make himself presen- 
table. 

In fact, when he came into the room, Dora was 
amused at the perceptible look of surprised 
approval of the fine, tall soldierly figure, as he 
advanced to meet Mr. and Mrs. Selby and their 
daughter, the nearest neighbors, who were, of 
course, in the regular course of instruction of the 
new-comers in the worthlessness and ingratitude 
of Uphill, and the impossibility of doing anything 
for the good of the place. 

Mary was very glad that he interrupted the 


ftik NEIGHBORHOOD. 


65 


subject by saying merrily, “ You caught me in the 
midst of my Augean stable. I hope next time 
you are kind enough to visit us that the yard may 
be in a more respectable condition.” 

Mr. Selby observed that it was unpardonable 
not to have done the work beforehand, and the 
captain answered, On the contrary, it was re- 
served as a fragrant bucket, or bouquet, for a 
farmer’s wife.” 

Whereat the visitors looked shocked, and Mary 
made haste to observe, “ But we do hope to 
make a better road to the house through the 
fields.” 

“ There is a great deal to be done first,” said 
Dora, who thought the observation rather weak. 

Nothing else that was interesting took place 
on this occasion. Mr. Selby asked the captain 
whether he hunted, and gave him some informa- 
tion on the sport of all kinds in the neighborhood. 
Miss Selby asked Dora if she liked archery, music, 
and drawing. Mrs. Selby wanted to recommend 
a housemaid, and advised Mrs. Carbonel against 
ever taking a servant from the neighborhood. 
And then they all turned to talk of the evil doings 
of the parish thieves, poachers, idlers, drunkards. 


66 


THE CARBONELS. 


and to warn the Carbonels once more against 
hoping to improve them. The horses could be 
heard pawing and jingling outside, and, as the 
ladies rose to take leave. Captain Carbonel begged 
eave to hurry out and clear the coast. And it 
was well that he did so, for he had to turn back a 
whole procession of cows coming in to be milked, 
and sundry pigs behind them. 

The farm court was finished, and never was so 
bad again, the animals being kept from spending 
their day there, except the poultry, in which Mary 
took great delight. Soon came more visitors, and 
it became a joke to the husband and sister that 
she always held out hopes of the future drive ” 
when they arrived, bumped or mired by the long 
lane. “ Mary’s Approach,” as Edmund called it, 
had to be deferred till more needful work was 
done. The guests whom they best liked, Mr. and 
Mrs. Grantley, the clergyman and his wife from 
the little town of Poppleby, gave an excellent and 
hopeful account of their rector. Dr. Fogram, who 
was, they said, a really good man, and very 
liberal. 

Mrs. Grantley was interested in schools and 
poor people, as it was easy to discover, and Mary 


THE NEIGHBORHOOD, 


67 


and Dora were soon talking eagerly to hejr, and 
hearing what was done at Poppleby; but there 
were gentry and prosperous tradespeople there, 
who could be made available as subscribers or 
teachers; so that their situation was much more 
hopeful than that of the Carbonels, who had not 
the authority of the clergyman. 

Poppleby was a much larger place than Down- 
hill, on the post-road to London. The mail-coach 
went through it, and thence post-horses were 
hired, and chaises, from the George Inn. The 
Carbonels possessed a phaeton, and a horse which 
could be used for driving or riding, and thus 
Captain Carbonel took the two ladies to return 
the various calls that had been made upon them. 
They found the Selbys not at home, but were 
warmly welcomed by the Grantleys, and spent the 
whole afternoon with them, and, at Dora’s earnest 
request, were taken to see the schools. So differ- 
ent was the taste and feeling of those days that, 
though Poppleby Church was a very fine old one 
— in grand architecture, such as in these days is 
considered one of the glories of the country — no 
one thought of going to look at it, and the effect 
of Mr. Grantley’s excellent sermons had been the 


68 


THE CARBONEZS. 


putting up of a new gallery right across the chan- 
cel arch. 

It had a fine tower and steeple, and this Dora 
thought of as a delightful subject for a sketch 
from the parsonage garden. She made great 
friends with Lucy Grantley, the eldest daughter, 
over their tastes in drawing, as well as in the 
Waverley novels and in poetry, and was invited to 
spend a long day at Poppleby and take a portrait 
of the steeple. 

After the calls had been made and returned 
began the dinner-parties. Elmour Priory was so 
near Greenhow that it would have been easy to 
walk there across the fields, or to drive in the 
phaeton, especially as the hours were much earlier, 
and six or half-past was held to be a late dinner- 
hour; but this would have been contrary to 
etiquette, especially the first time, with people 
who evidently thought much of ‘‘style,” and the 
Carbonels were not superior to such considera- 
tions, which were — or were supposed to be — of 
more importance in those days. So a chaise was 
ordered, and they went in state, and had a long, 
dull evening, chiefly enlivened by the Miss Selbys 
and Dora playing on the piano. 


TtiE NEtGHBORHOOi). 


69 


As they were going home, all round by the 
road, when they were near the top of the hill, 
before they came to the “ Fox and Hounds,” the 
postilion first shouted and then came to a sudden 
stop. The captain, putting his head out at the 
window, saw by the faint light of a young moon, 
going down in the remains of sunset, that he was 
jumping off his horse, growling and swearing, but ’ 
under his breath, when the captain sprang out. 
A woman was lying across the road, and had 
barely escaped being run over. Mary and Dora 
were both out in a moment. 

'' Poor thing, poor thing ! Is it a fit ? She is 
quite insensible.” 

“ A fit of a certain kind,” said the captain, who 
was dragging her into the hedge, while the post- 
boy held the horses. “ Go back, Mary, Dora!” 

“ It is Nanny Barton!” said Dora, in horror. 

Mary took down one of the carriage lamps and 
held it to the face. “Yes, it is!” said she. 
“ Can’t we take her home, or do anything? ” 

“No, no; nonsense !” said Edmund. “Don’t 
come near, don’t touch her! Don’t you see, she 
is simply dead drunk.” 

“ But we can’t leave her here.” 


70 


THE CARBONELS. 


“The best thing to do! Yes, it is; but we 
will stop at the * Fox and Hounds,’ if that will 
satisfy you, and send some one out to see after 
her.” 

They were obliged to be satisfied, for the tones 
were authoritative, and they had to accept his 
assurance that the woman was in no state for them 
to meddle with. She would come to no harm, he 
said, when he had put her on the bank; and it 
was only to pacify them that he caused the pos- 
tilion to stop at the public-house, whence roar- 
ing, singing, and shouts proceeded. The landlord 
came out, supposing it was some new arrival, and 
when Captain Carbonel jumped out, and, speaking 
severely, desired that some one \^ould go to look 
after the woman who was lying in the road, and 
whom the horses had almost run over, he an- 
swered, as if he had been doing the most natural 
and correct thing in the world : 

“Yes, sir; I had just sent her home. They 
had been treating of her, and she had had a drop 
too much. She wasn’t in a proper state.” 

“ Proper state 1 No! I should think not! It 
is a regular shame and disgrace that you should 
encourage such goings on ! Where’s the woman’s 


THE NEIGHBORHOOD. 7 1 

husband ? Has no one got the humanity to come 
and take her home? ” 

Oldfellow called gruffly to some of the troop, 
who came reeling out to the door, and told them 
it was time to be off, and that some one — “ you, 
Tirzah — had best see to that there Barton ’ooman.” 

Captain Carbonel wished to keep his ladies from 
the sight, but they were watching eagerly, and 
could not help seeing that it was Tirzah Todd, 
more gipsy-looking than ever, who came out ; 
not, however, walking as if intoxicated, and quite 
able to comprehend Captain Carbonel’s brief ex- 
planation where to find her companion. 

“Ah, poor Nanny!” she said, cheerfully. 
“ She’s got no head I A drop is too much for 
her.” 

The chaise door was shut, and they went on, 
Dora and Mary shocked infinitely, and hardly able 
to speak of what they had seen. 

And they did not feel any happier when, the 
next day, as Mary was feeding the chickens, 
Nanny came up to her courtesying and civil. 

“ Please, ma’am. I’m much obliged to you for 
seeing to me last night. I just went in to see if 
my husband was there, as was gone to Poppleby 


l^HE CAkBdNELS. 


^2 

with some sheep, and they treated me, ma’am. 
And that there Tirzah and Bet Bracken they was 
a-singing songs as it was a shame to hear, so I 
ups and rebukes them, and they flies at me like 
a catamount, ma’am ; and then Mr. Oldfellow he 
puts me out, ma’am, as was doing no harm, as in- 
nocent as a lamb.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Carbonel, '' it was no place 
for any woman to be in, and we were grieved — I 
cannot tell you how much — that you should be 
there. You had better take care; you know 
drunkenness is a really wicked sin in God’s sight.” 

“ Only a little overtaken — went to see for my 
husband,” muttered Nanny. I didn’t take nigh 
so much as that there Tirzah Todd, that is there 
with Bet Bracken every night of her life, to 
sing—” 

“ Never mind other people. Their doing wrong 
doesn’t make you right.” 

Only a drop,” argued Nanny. “ And that 
there Tirzah and Bet — ” 

Mary was resolved against hearing any more 
against Tirzah and Bet, and actually shut herself 
into the granary till Nanny was gone. And there 
she sat down on a sack of pease and fairly cried at 


THE NEIGHBORHOOD. 


73 


the thought of the sin and ignorant unconscious- 
ness of evil all round her. And then she prayed 
a little prayer for help and wisdom for these poor 
people and themselves. Then she felt cheered up 
and hopeful. 


CHAPTER VIL 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 

She hastens to the Sunday-school. 

Jane Taylor. 

APTAIN CARBONEL had written to 
the President of St. Cyril’s, and at once 
obtained his willing consent to the 
ladies’ attempting to form a little Sunday-school. 
Dr. Fogram said that he should come down himself 
on July 2 1st, and should be very glad to take 
counsel with the Carbonels on the state of Uphill. 
He would be glad to assist if any outlay were 
needed. 

The sisters were in high spirits. The only 
place they could find for the purpose was the 
wash-house and laundry. Once in five weeks two 
women, in high white muslin caps and checked 
aprons, of whom Betsy Seddon was one, Betty 
Pucklechurch the other, came to assist the maids 
74 



SUNDA Y-SCHOOL. 


75 


in getting up the family linen — a tremendous 
piece of work. A tub was set on the Saturday, 
with ashes placed in a canvas bag on a frame 
above ; water was poured on it, and ran through, 
so as to be fitted for the operations which began 
at five o’clock in the morning, and absorbed all 
the women of the establishment, and even old 
Pucklechurch, who was called on to turn the 
mangle. 

Except during this formidable week the wash- 
house and laundry were empty, and hither were 
invited the children. About twenty, of all ages, 
came — the boys in smocks, the girls in print 
frocks and pinafores, one in her mother’s black 
bonnet, others in coarse straw or sun bonnets. 
All had shoes of some sort, but few had stockings, 
though the long frocks concealed the deficiencies, 
and some wore stocking-legs without feet. 

They made very low bows, or pulled their fore- 
locks ; most grinned and looked sheepish, and a 
very little one began to cry. It did not seem 
very promising, but Mary and Dora began by 
asking all their names, and saying they hoped to 
be better friends. They for the most part knew 
nothing, with the exception of George Hewlett’s 


76 


THE CAKBONELS, 


two eldest, Bessy Mole’s girls, and one sharp boy 
of Dan Hewlett’s, also the Pucklechurch grand- 
children; but even these had very dim notions, 
and nobody but the Hewletts could tell a word of 
the Catechism. 

To teach them the small commencement of 
doctrine comprised in the earliest pages of “ First 
Truths” was all that could be attempted, as well 
as telling them a Bible story, to which the few 
intelligent ones listened with pleasure, and Johnnie 
Hewlett showed that he had already heard it — 
from aunt,” he said. He was a sickly, quiet- 
looking boy, very different from his younger 
brother, Jem, who had organized a revolt among 
the general multitude before long. None of these 
had enough civilization to listen or be attentive 
for five minutes together, and when Mrs. Carbonel 
looked round on hearing a howl, there was a 
pitched battle going on between Jem and Lizzie 
Seddon over her little sister, who had been bribed 
into coming with a lump of gingerbread, which 
the boy was abstracting. He had been worked 
up enough even to lose his awe of the ladies, and 
to kick and struggle when Dora, somewhat im- 
prudently, tried to turn him out. 


SUNDA Y-SCHOOL. 


77 


The disturbance was so great that the sisters 
were obliged to dismiss their pupils at least a 
quarter of an hour sooner than they had intended, 
and without having tried to teach the short daily 
prayers that had been part of the program. 

Somewhat crestfallen, they sped back to the 
house. 

Did you ever see such a set of little savages ? ” 
cried Dora. 

“ Come, there was a very fair proportion of 
hopeful ones,” was the reply. 

These hopeful ones, made one class under Dora, 
while Mary, who had more patience and expe- 
rience, undertook the others, who, when once 
wakened, proved very eager and interested, in a 
degree new to those who are not the first lights in 
gross darkness. Johnnie Hewlett was the bright- 
est among the children ; for though his week-days 
were occupied in what his mother called “ keeping 
a few birds,” or, more technically, “ bird-starving,” 
he spent most of his spare time beside his sick 
aunt, and had not only been taught by her to 
read, but to think, and to say his prayers. 

As Dora gradually learned, both Mary Hew- 
lett and Judith Grey had been children of a little 


78 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ smock-frock ” farmer, and had not been entirely 
without breeding; but Molly had been the eldest, 
and had looked after the babies, and done much 
of the work of the farm, till she plunged into an 
early and most foolish marriage with the ne’er-do- 
weU member of the old sawyer’s family, and had 
been going deeper into the mire ever since. 

Judith, a good deal younger, and always deli- 
cate, had gone to the dame-school when Mrs. 
Verdon was rather less inefficient, and at ten years 
old had been taken into service by an old retired 
servant, who needed her chiefly as a companion ; 
and thence she had been passed on to a family 
where the ladies were very kind to the servants, 
and the children brought them their books and 
their information of all kinds, so that she had 
much cultivation, religious and otherwise. 

When her accident had sent her home to the 
only surviving member of her family, she hoped 
to be of use to her sister and the children; but, 
before long, she found it almost hopeless. Molly, 
indeed, was roughly kind to her, but Dan took no 
notice of her except to borrow ” her money, and 
any attempt to interfere with the management of 
the children was resented. 


SUNDA Y-SCHOOL. 


79 


Johnnie, the eldest boy, was fond of his aunt, 
and soon became her best attendant when not out 
at the work that began at nine years old. He 
was willing that she should teach him, and when 
the ladies came to see her she was full of stories 
of what he had told her. She said no word of the 
rudeness of the girls or the tyranny of Jem, as she 
sat helpless by the fire. When all were out these 
were pleasant, peaceful visits to her, and she was 
grateful for the books Dora lent her and the 
needlework Mrs. Carbonel gave her when she was 
well enough to do it. Molly was not unwilling 
that her sister should be “ a fav’rite,” as she called 
it, more especially as Jem was generally allowed 
to swallow any dainty brought by the ladies that 
was to his taste. 

Old Master Redford, Widow Mole’s father, was 
another cheerful spot in the village. He was a 
thoroughly good, devout person in a simple way, 
and most grateful for Dora’s coming to read to 
him. Old Pucklechurch once, indeed, said. 
What, ma’am, ye be never a-going to read to 
that there Thomas Redford ! Why, ’tis all one as 
singing psalms to a dead horse.” 

In spite, however, of this hopeless augury. 


8o 


THE CARBONELS. 


Dora’s voice did reach his ears. He had made 
good use of his scanty opportunities, and had 
taught his family to be thoroughly conscientious. 
There was another daughter in service, who from 
time to time sent him a little help ; but the transit 
of money was a difficulty in those days, and the 
relief could not often come. One morning Widow 
Mole fainted away in the hay-field, and hardly 
heard Farmer Goodenough abusing her fine-lady 
airs, though she trembled and shook so much 
when she tried to go on that she was forced to let 
Tirzah Todd lead her home, and the next morning 
she could not get up. 

She had been in such plight before, and the 
shop trusted her, knowing that she always strove 
to pay off her debts; but the farmer rated her 
vehemently, declaring that she had been good for 
nothing since the ladies had been putting fancies 
and megrims in her head, and that he would not 
take her on again. Probably he did not mean to 
fulfil his threat, for, as far as her strength allowed, 
she was the best and most thorough worker of all 
his women, and he had no desire to have the 
whole family on the rates. But the ladies believed 
it, and came home furious with indignation; and 


SUNDA Y-SCHOOL. 


8l 


even Captain Carbonel thought her justified in 
accepting the dismissal, and as soon as kitchen 
physic ” had a little restored her, she became 
washerwoman, weeding- woman, and useful woman 
generally at Greenhow Farm. 

Many a cup of tea and thick slice of bread and 
butter were carried out to her after breakfast, not 
to say three-cornered remnant of pie or sandwich 
of cold meat at luncheon ; and though some was 
saved for granfer and the children,” still she be- 
gan to look like another woman ere many weeks 
were over. 

Betsy Seddon and Molly Hewlett were much 
displeased, and reproached her with having got 
the place by “ hypercriting about.” 

Nanny Barton put on a white apron and brought 
out the big Bible when she saw the ladies getting 
over the stile. The first time Dora was much 
delighted ; the second, Mrs. Carbonel managed to 
see that the Bible was open at one of the geneal- 
ogies in the First Book of Chronicles, and spied, 
besides, the dirtiest of all skirts under the apron. 
After that she did not much heed when Nanny 
said she would come to church if her shoes were 
not so bad. 


82 


THE CARBONELS, 


Tirzah Todd laughed and showed her white 
teeth and merry eyes so pleasantly that no one 
could help liking to talk with her ; but alas ! old 
Pucklechurch took care to let them know that she 
could be just as merry in a different way at the 
“ Fox and Hounds.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MARY’S APPROACH. 

The chaise was stayed, 

But yet was not allowed 
To drive up to the door, lest all 
Should say that she was proud. 

COWPER. 

R. FOGRAM was true to his word, and 
made his appearance at the Long Vaca- 
tion. The Carbonels, to whom little 
eager Sophia had been added a day or two previ- 
ously, first saw him at Downhill Church, where 
he made a most dignified appearance in a very 
full surplice, with his Doctor of Divinity’s red 
hood over it. The clerk, small, gray-haired, and 
consequential, bustled up to open the pulpit door 
for him, and he preached, in a fine, sonorous voice, 
a very learned sermon, that might have been 
meant for his undergraduates at Oxford. 

It was the day for afternoon service at Uphill, 
83 



84 


THE CARBONELS. 


SO the sisters had to hurry away to eat their 
luncheon in haste, and then to introduce Sophy to 
the Sunday-school, where she was to teach a class 
of small ones, a matter of amazing importance and 
ecstasy. 

She was a damsel of thirteen, in a white frock 
and cape, a pink sash, pink kerchief round her 
neck, pink satin ribbons tying down her broad 
Leghorn hat over her ears, in what was called 
gipsy fashion. She had rosy cheeks, blue, good- 
natured eyes, and shining, light-brown curls all 
round her head. Her appearance in the school 
was quite as memorable to the children as Dr. 
Fogram’s could be to their elders, and the little 
ones were so engaged in looking at her that they 
quite forgot to be naughty, except that Billy 
Mole, in curiosity to know what anything so 
glossy and shining could be, pinched the end of 
her sash, and left the grimy mark of his little hot 
hands on it, which caused Maitland, the maid, who 
had charge of her toilet, to declare that such 
things always came of going among “ they nasty, 
dirty little brats.” 

Dr. Fogram rode over on a plump, shining 
black horse, followed by a well- equipped groom. 



f 



CAPTAIN LARBONEL, 1 BELIE I’E/ SAID DR. EOCRAM. 


85 



MARY'S APPROACH. 


85 


He dismounted and gave his horse to the man 
when he overtook the Carbonel party on the way 
up the hill. 

“ Captain Carbonel, I believe,” said he, touch- 
ing his hat, almost a shovel. “Will you do me 
the honor to introduce me to the ladies ? ” And to 
them he uncovered with the grand formal polite- 
ness which even then was becoming rather old- 
fashioned, and which they returned with courtesies, 
Sophia’s, being fresh from the dancing- master, the 
most perfect of all. 

“ I understand,” said he, “ that I am greatly 
indebted to you for pains taken with this unfor- 
tunate parish.” 

“ We have been trying to do what we could,” 
said Mrs. Carbonel, to whom this was chiefly 
addressed. 

- “ It is a great kindness,” he replied, “ and I 
hope the people may show themselves sensible 
of your exertions; but hitherto all endeavors for 
their benefit have been thrown away.” 

Dora could not help wondering what the exer- 
tions were! 

After the service he joined the family again, 
and said that he thought the appearance of the 


86 


THE CARBONELS. 


poor — and especially- of the children — and their 
behavior much improved, and he had no doubt it 
was owing to the gentle and beneficent influence 
of the ladies, to whom he bowed. 

In fact, the children had been much engaged in 
staring, though whether he or Sophy were the 
prime attraction might be doubtful. At any rate. 
Master Pucklechurch’s rod had only once de- 
scended. Moreover, two neat sunbonnets of lilac 
print adorned two heads, and the frocks looked as 
if they were sometimes washed. 

Captain Carbonel said he hoped to have some 
conversation with the President about the parish ; 
and he responded that he hoped to do himself the 
honor of calling the next day. After which he 
mounted his horse and rode off. 

The three sisters waited and watched as if their 
whole fate'depended on the morning’s conference ; 
but nothing was seen of the President till after 
luncheon, when he rode up, attended by his 
groom as before. To their great disappointment 
he would talk of nothing but the beauty of the 
country, and of the voices of Lablache and Sonn- 
tag, or the like, which he evidently considered the 
proper subjects for ladies; and it was not till he 


MARY^S APPROACH. 


87 


had spent the quarter of an hour fit for a visit of 
ceremony on these topics that he asked Captain 
Carbonel to allow him a little conversation with 
him. 

They shut themselves into the captain’s little 
“ den,” which was something between a gun-room 
and a library, with the rectory books going round 
two sides of the room, Edmund’s sword, pistols, 
and spurs hanging over the mantelpiece, and his 
guns, shot-belts, powder-horn, and fishing-rods 
on hooks on the wall. No noise was heard for 
more than an hour, during which Dora fumed, 
Mary cut off the dead roses, and Sophia was 
withheld from peeping. 

At last they came out. The horses had been 
brought to the door. The President bowed to the 
ladies, mounted, and rode off, while Edmund 
came across the lawn; and they all clustered 
round him. 

“ Well,” said he, “ we have fared better than 
we expected. Dr. Fogram has long been regret- 
ting the state of the parish.” 

“Why did he do nothing?” broke in Dora. 

“ I suppose he has much on his hands ; and I am 
afraid my poor old uncle was a hindrance, for he 


88 


THE CARBONELS. 


really seemed like a man who had got rid of an 
incubus when he found that we were willing to do 
what we could. Then it seems that he was disap- 
pointed in Ashley Selby. He thought that, being 
an inhabitant of the place, the young man would 
be interested in the people and make his sisters 
useful.” 

''They! ” exclaimed Dora. "They are such 
fine ladies, who think about nothing but Almack’s, 
are afraid of the dirt, and of catching all sorts of 
disorders at the cottages.” 

" I can hardly get Dora to be moderately civil 
to them,” said Mary. 

"Yes,” said Edmund, "parental influence has 
been strong. The mother fears for health, the 
father for his game, and the children have grown 
up to think poachers and their families almost be- 
yond the pale of humanity. It has been too 
much for this young man, who simply acquiesced 
in the way in which he was bred. However, this 
will come to an end, for the present holder of the 
family living has had a paralytic stroke and wants 
him to come and assist. I fully believe that he 
may do much better away from home habits, es- 
pecially under a good incumbent.” 


3IARY^S APPROACH. 89 

‘'And what is to happen to us?” inquired 
Mary. 

“ Dr. Fogram says that he will send us one of 
the fellows of his college — a young man full of 
zeal, who is eager for parochial work, and has 
been taking duty at a parish some miles from 
Oxford. He thinks we shall be satisfied with the 
change.” 

“As if we were the people to be satisfied!” 
cried Dora. “Just confess, Edmund, that the old 
gentleman did not think the place worth attending 
to till educated gentlefolk came to live in it.” 

“ Say, rather, that he really did not know the 
deficiencies,” said the captain, “till they were 
brought before him.” 

“Then he ought,” muttered Dora. 

“Judge not,” whispered Mary, who was a rev- 
erent person. 

“ And the school ? ” resumed Dora. “ Was he 
aware of any deficiency there?” 

“ He was very glad to hear that you had begun 
keeping school, and will contribute to a better 
arrangement for the week-day school, assist in 
pensioning off Dame Verdon, if needful, and in 
obtaining a better person.” 


90 


THE CARBONELS. 


Dora and Sophy each gave a little caper and 
squeezed each other’s hands. 

“ He is quite disposed to be liberal,” continued 
Edmund, and I am sure we shall find him no 
impediment.” 

“ I don’t think the school is going on now,” 
said Mary. Lizzie Verdon came for some 
broth, and said granny was bad in bed. I asked 
whether she had had the doctor, and she stared 
and said no, but Dame Spurred had got her some 
" yarbs.’ ” 

For in those days the union doctor was not an 
institution. Large tracts of country would con- 
tract with some apothecary to attend their sick; 
but he was generally a busy man, with his hands 
full of paying patients, and there was nobody to 
keep him up to his work among the poor, if he 
could have done it, which he really could not. 
The poor themselves knew that it was in vain to 
apply to him, or if he came once in a serious case, 
to expect any attention ; and they preferred to 
depend on the woman clever in ” yarbs,” on the 
white witch, or, in favored villages, on the lady 
bountiful or the clergyman and his wife; and in 
simple cases these latter were quite efficient, keep- 


MARY'S APPROACH. 


91 


ing a family medicine-chest and a book on house- 
hold medicine. 

Mrs. Carbonel had routed out her mother’s 
book, replenished her chest, and had cured two 
or three children who had been eating unripe 
apples, and greatly benefited Widow Mole with 
infusions of Jesuits’ bark in a large jug (the same 
thing as quinine, only more cumbrously and 
domestically prepared). But most of the Uphill 
people had the surest confidence in Dame Spur- 
red and her remedies, some of which were very 
curious ; for Mrs. Carbonel found a child who had 
fits wearing, in a bag, a pinch of black hair from 
the cross on the back of a jackass ; and once, when 
she objected to a dirty mark on the throat of 
Susan Pucklechurch, she was told it was left by a 
rasher of bacon put on to cure a sore throat. 

The symptoms were sometimes curious, as she 
now found when she went to inquire after Dame 
Verdon, who, Lizzie informed her, had her heart 
hanging by only one string, and when that gave 
way she would not be here. 

For the present, however, she was in bed, under 
a quilt made of colored cloth scraps ; but however 
it might be with her heartstrings, she did not 


92 


THE CARBONELS, 


seem likely to get up again. It was hay-time, and 
it appeared that no one did come to school in hay 
and harvest seasons, so that there was time to 
coiTsider what could be done. Dr. Fogram was 
invited to dinner to hold consultation with the 
ladies, whom the captain would not leave to any 
conclusion as to the schools. 

There were no such things as trained masters 
- and mistresses in those days ; the National Soci- 
ety had only been in existence eleven years, and 
government had not taken up the matter at all. 
Educated and religious people had, however, come 
to the conclusion that it would be well to help all 
the village children to know their faith and duty, 
and to read their Bibles; and the good work of 
Mrs. Hannah More and Mrs. Trimmer were ex- 
amples that had begun to be followed, now that 
the one was in extreme old age, and the other in 
her grave. The Carbonel family had been bred 
up to such work, and all of them knew a good 
deal more about it than the President, whose 
studies had been chiefly in Greek plays, and whose 
tasks had been dealing with young men and the 
college estates. His conscience as a clergyman 


MARY'S APPROACH. 


93 


was a good deal stirred by the condition of his 
parish, and he was really thankful to those who 
would take up the matter, as well as ready to 
assist with his purse. 

So it was settled that Mrs. Carbonel should 
write about a widow at her old home, who had 
once been a servant in the family. She was 
known to be a good, religious person, who could 
read and write and cast accounts quite well enough 
for any possibly advanced scholars, as well as 
being a beautiful needlewoman. An old friend 
went to see her, explain the situation to her, and 
ascertain if she were willing to undertake the 
school for twenty pounds a year and what the 
children could pay. 

A cottage belonging to Captain Carbonel might 
have a room added to it to receive the scholars 
by the end of harvest, by which time they might 
be got together; and Mrs. Verdon was to be in- 
duced to resign by a pension of half a crown a 
week, a sum then supposed to be ample, and 
which, indeed, was so for her wants, which were 
much less than in these days. Captain Carbonel 
looked over the cottage, and worked out an esti- 


94 


THE CARBONELS. 


mate of the cost with old Hewlett, whose notions 


of paper- work were of the kind shown 

in 

his mid- 

summer bill : 

s. 

d. 

I ooden barrer a oodnt soot . 

9 

6 

I ooden barrer a ood soot 

9 

6 


The result of the calculations, conjectural and 
otherwise, was this : 

“ Mary, look here. This is an expensive year, 
and if we do the thing this year, we must put off 
making the drive through the fields — your ap- 
proach, madam.” 

Mary came and looked at his figures. ” How 
will it be after harvest? ” she said. 

Harvest is an inappreciable quantity, espe- 
cially to novices,” he said. ” If you believe Farmer 
Goodenough, the finest weather will not save me 
from finding myself out of pocket.” 

“ Farmer Goodenough is an old croaker, after 
his kind,” said Mary. 

It won’t do to reckon thereupon. I must be 
secure of capital enough to fall back upon. Think 
it over well, Mary, and answer me to-morrow; 
and you had better say nothing to your sisters till 
your own mind is made up. I own that I should 


MAJiY'S AFFROACH. 


95 


be very glad of the road. It would save us and 
old Major a good deal, to say nothing of our 
friends’ bones.” 

“ Do you mean that you wish it, Edmund?” 

“ I wish to leave it entirely to you.” 

Dora and Sophy had gone across the fields, a 
four miles’ walk, to Poppleby, and were to be 
brought home in the evening ; and Mary was left 
to wander about the old road and the field-path, 
and meditate on the ruts and quagmires that 
would beset the way in the winter, and shut them 
up from visiting, perhaps even from church. Be- 
sides, there were appearances! 

There was an old gentleman, a far-away con- 
nection of Edmund’s, who had been in the navy, 
and now lived at Poppleby, and went about 
collecting all the chatter to be heard in one house, 
and retailing it all in another; and he thought 
himself licensed to tell Edmund and Mary every- 
thing personal. One thing was : 

My dear fellow, you should really put a check 
on your wife’s Methodistical ways!” 

“ I didn’t know she had any.” 

” I have been told, on good authority, that she 
has a meeting every Sunday in the wash-house.” 


96 


THE CARBONELS. 


Edmund laughed. A dozen children for 
Sunday-school, with the President’s full consent.” 

“ It won’t do, Edmund. You’ll find it won’t 
do. Why, old Selby told me she was a pretty 
creature, only just like your good, pious ladies, 
running into all the dirtiest cottages.” 

And to Mary it was: “ Let me give you a hint, 
my dear Mrs. Carbonel. The Duchess saw you in 
Poppleby, and asked who you were, and she said 
she would like to visit you, if you did not live in 
such a hole.” 

“ I don’t think I want her,” said Mary. 

“Now, my dear, don’t you be foolish! It 
would be so much to Edmund’s advantage ! He 
was in the same regiment with Lord Henry, and 
you might have the best society in the county, if 
only you would make your new drive! Why, 
even Lady Hartman says she can’t take her horses 
again through that lane, or into the farm court. 
Miss Yates said it was quite disgusting.” 

Mary Carbonel might laugh; she did not care 
for her own dignity. But she did for Edmund’s ; 
and though she had been amused at Lady Hart- 
man’s four horses entangled in the narrow sweep, 
and did not quite believe old Captain Caiger, the 


APPROACH. 


91 


lady herself had been very charming, and she did 
not like to cut her husband and sisters off from the 
pleasantest houses in the county. 

But the words, “ Love not the world,” came up 
into her mind, and the battle ended by her saying 
to her husband : 

Don’t let us have the <2/proach this year, dear 
Edmund. I don’t want it to be Mary’s reproach.” 

” You are quite sure? In spite of Caiger?” 

“ Indeed I am ; though I am afraid it is asking 
you to give up something.” 

“ Not while I have my merry faces at home, 
Mary. And, indeed, little woman, I am glad of 
your decision. It is right!” 

“ I am so glad!” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE SCREEN. 

There is no honesty in such dealing. 

Shakespeare. 

NE day when Sophy had been trusted to 
go out alone to carry a few veal cutlets 
from luncheon to Judith, she found the 
door on the latch, but no one in the room down- 
stairs, the chair empty, the fire out, and all more 
dreary than usual, only a voice from above called 
out, Please come up.” 

Sophy, pleased with the adventure, mounted 
the dark and rickety stairs, and found herself in 
the open space above, cut off from the stairs by a 
screen, and containing a press-bed, where Judith 
lay, covered by an elaborate patchwork quilt. 
There was a tiny dressing-table under the narrow 
lattice-window, and one chair, also a big trunk- 
box with a wagon- shaped lid, such as servants 
98 



THE SCREEN, 


99 


used to have in those days, covered with paper, 
where big purple spots of paint concealed the old 
print of some story- or newspaper. On the wall 
hung a few black profiles, and all was very fairly 
neat, whatever the room might be shut off by a 
wooden partition, whence came a peculiar sour 
smell. 

“Oh, it is Miss Sophia!” exclaimed Judith. 
“ I beg your pardon, ma’am ; I thought it was 
Dame Spurrell, who said she would come and 
look in on me, or I would not have troubled you 
to come up.” 

“I am glad I did, Judith; I like to see where 
you live. Only, are you worse ? ” 

“ No, miss, only as my back is sometimes, and 
my sister and all the children are gone to the hir- 
ing fair, so it was not handy to get me up.” 

“ And this is your room 1 ” said Sophy, looking 
about her. “ Isn’t it. very cold? ” 

“Johnnie heats me a brick to keep me warm at 
night; but my feet are always cold downstairs. 
It does not make much difference.” 

“Oh dear! And you have a screen, I see. 
Oh! Why, that is our drawing-room paper.” 

She sat transfixed at the recognition, while 


100 


THE CARBONELS, 


Judith observed, quite innocently, with a free 
conscience : 

“ Yes, miss, my brother-in-law brought it home, 
and told me it was just a scrap that was left over, 
and he was free to have, though I said I did won- 
der the lady did not want to keep it in case of an 
accident happening.” 

”Yes,” said Sophy, “I don’t think he had any 
business to have it, for all one division of the 
paper is put on upside down. The laburnums 
point up instead of hanging down, and I am sure 
Mary would have altered it if she could. It was 
beautiful French paper that Edmund brought 
home from Paris and laid up for the furnishing of 
their house.” 

This, of course, Mrs. Carbonel and Dora would 
never have told poor Judith ; but Sophy was young 
and unguarded, and apt to talk when she had bet- 
ter have held her tongue. 

I am sorry to hear it, miss ; indeed I am. I 
am afraid one could not take it off the screen to 
put it back again where it ought to be.” 

Sophy looked, but it was manifestly impossible. 
Spoiling the screen would not mend the wall of 
the drawing-room. 


The screen. 


ioi 


Perhaps Molly might have another bit left,” 
she said, only thinking of the triumph of carrying 
home the means of repairing the deficiency by her 
own unassisted sagacity. 

I will ask her, miss. I am sure I never 
thought Dan would go for to do such a thing,” 
mourned Judith, though, even as she spoke, there 
came back on her recollections of times when she 
had tried to be blind and deaf. “ But if Mrs. 
Carbonel would let me pay for it, miss, I should 
be easier in my mind. I have a shilling, though 
no doubt that is not the worth of it.” And she 
began feeling for a little box under her pillow, 
never mentioning that she had already paid Dan 
a shilling for it. 

'‘No, no; nonsense, Judith! Of course my 
sister would not take it for the world ; but if any 
one could find another bit, just to patch up the 
part above the bookcase, it would be nice.” 

" I will do what in me lays. Miss Sophy,” an- 
swered Judith. 

So Sophy took her leave and trotted home, very 
proud of her discovery, which she communicated 
in an eager voice as the phaeton drew up at the 
front door. 


102 


THE CARBONELS. 


'' O Edmund, I have found the rest of the 
drawing-room paper! ” 

“ Hush! not so loud, my dear,” said Dora, get- 
ting out of the back seat; and Edmund, being 
busy in telling the groom to attend to something 
in the harness, did not heed at first. 

“Did you know, Dora?.” asked Sophy, in a 
lower voice, being struck by something in her 
repressive manner. 

“Yes; but I did not tell, because Edmund was 
so much vexed, and it was of no use now.” 

Dora really hoped no one had heard, as Mary 
was busy with her parcels, and she was too fond 
of Judith not to wish to shield her family; but it 
was too late. The captain came in with, “ What’s 
this about the drawing-room paper? ” 

Sophy was delighted to pour out the history 
of her discovery, and tell how it appeared on the 
screen that sheltered poor Judith Grey. 

“ Exactly as I supposed,” said Captain Carbonel. 
“ I always believed that fellow was a thief.” 

“But it is not poor Judith’s fault,” exclaimed 
the sisters, with one voice. 

“ She knew nothing about it. She wanted to 
pay the shilling for it,” said Sophia. 


THE BCkEEM. 


103 


The captain laughed a little. 

And she is going to search for a bit to go up 
there ! ” continued the girl, more vehemently. And 
he laughed again. 

“Yes,” said Mary, “if you only saw something 
of her you would be convinced that her whole 
character is very different from that of the rest of 
the family.” 

“ Don’t you be taken in by plausibility,” said 
the captain. “ I know that fellow Dan is a thief. 
I meant to tell his relation, George, that I won’t 
allow him to be employed on the new school- 
room. I shall do so now.” 

“ Would it not be better to forget what hap- 
pened so long ago?” Mary ventured to say. 

“ And suppose Judith restores it,” added 
Sophia. 

“ Pshaw!” said the captain. But Mary followed 
him to the study, and what she did with him there 
her sisters did not know, but it resulted in his 
allowing that Dan might have another trial, with 
a sharp eye over him. 

So unused was Uphill to the visits of ladies that 
when the piece of French paper was sold to Judith 
no one had thought of her being sought out in 


104 the carbonels, 

her bedroom. Molly came home with the children 
in the evening, tired out but excited — for all had 
had rather more beer than was good for them, and 
the children a great many more sweets. Jem and 
Judy were quarreling over a wooden horse covered 
with white spots, but whose mane had already 
disappeared ; Betsy was sick, cross, and stupid ; 
Polly had broken the string of her new yellow 
necklace, and was crying about it; and nobody 
had recollected the aunt except Johnnie, who 
presented her with a piece of thin gingerbread 
representing King George the Fourth in white, 
pink, and gilt! Molly herself was very tired, 
though she said it was all very fine, and she had 
seen a lot of people, and the big sleeves they wore 
were quite a wonder. Then she scolded Polly 
with all her might for crying and never setting 
the tea nor boiling the kettle; and, after all, it 
was Johnnie who made up the fire, fetched water, 
and set the kettle boiling. They all wrangled to- 
gether over their purchases, and the sights they 
had seen, or not seen ; while Judith was glad to be 
out of the way of seeing, though not of hearing. 
Then the girls trailed themselves upstairs. Judy 
slept with her aunt ; Polly and Betsy had a kind 


THE SCREEN. 


05 


of shake-down on a mattress of chaff or hulls, as 
she called it, by her side. Judith always insisted 
on their prayers ; but they said they were much 
too tired to-night, and could not say anything 
but “ Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,” which 
was all they knew except the Lord’s Prayer. 
Judith had taught them this, but they thought the 
repeating it a very difficult ceremony, far too hard 
when they were tired. 

Their mother went to bed soon afterward, tak- 
ing Jem with her, and so did Johnnie, all being 
anxious to get what sleep they could before the 
dreaded moment of father’s return. Public houses 
were not obliged to close at any special time in 
those days, and the home-coming, especially on a 
fair day, was apt to be a terrible affair. It was 
not till past one o’clock that shouts, broken bursts 
of singing, and howls of quarreling announced the 
break-up of the riotous party; and presently the 
door bounced open, and with oaths at the dark- 
ness, though there was bright moonlight, Dan 
stumbled in and staggered upstairs, overturning 
the unlucky screen upon Polly as he did so, curs- 
ing and swearing at them all, and ordering his 
wife to get up and open the door, which he was 


io 6 the carbonels. 

past finding. He, did not attack Judith, though 
he almost fell over her bed ; and the two girls lay 
trembling, not daring to lift off the screen till the 
door of the bedroom was shut on them ; and then 
came the only too well-known sound of their 
mother scolding and crying, and his swearing and 
beating her. 

They were only too much used to such disturb- 
ance, and were asleep again before it was over; 
but Judith could only lie on, shaking with terror 
— not personal, but at the awful words she heard ; 
and praying that they might not be visited on that 
unhappy household, but that God would forgive. 

It was not till the next day, when the house 
was tolerably quiet, and Molly, rather fretful and 
grumbling, had helped Judith down to her place 
by the fire, that she ventured the question, 
“ Molly, you have not a bit more of that pretty 
wall-paper you gave me for my screen?” 

” Did it get broke last night in Dan’s drunken 
tantrums? ” 

''Not more than I can mend; but little Miss 
Sophia she says that the paper in the Greenhow 
drawing-room is quite spoiled for want of a piece 
to cover up a bit that was put on wrong.” 


THE SCREEN. 


107 

My patience ! And how did Miss Sophia 
come to know anything about it? ” 

“ She came up to see me, and bring those cut- 
lets that you are warming up now.” 

“Bless me! Well, Dan will be vexed,” said 
Molly. “ Such mean folk as they are, a-peeping 
and a-prying after everything I They knows 
how to look after whatever they chooses to say is 
their own ; and the captain he made a row before 
about that there trumpery yard or two of paper 
that was the parkisit of them that hung it.” 

“ Miss Sophy says it spoiled the room.” 

“ Sp’iled it ! They’ve little to vex ’em tnat is 
terrified about that!” 

“ But have you got the bit, Molly? ” 

“ I never had it ! Dan kept it in the outhouse. 
He may have a scrap left, that he used to make 
caps for the Christmas boys when he used the 
rest to paper Mrs. Hunter’s closet with down at 
Downhill. Your piece was left over of that, and 
maybe there was half a yard more. But he locks 
that there workshop of his, so as one can’t get in 
to get a bit of shavings to light the fire. So you 
must ask him. I am sure I dare not do it. He’s 
that angry if one does but look into his shop.” 


o8 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ I must try and get it,” said Judith. 

‘‘ Not now, I wouldn’t,” entreated Molly. 

What is it to the ladies ? And father he will 
be fit to tear the place down if he hears of it! 
Them Gobblealls is set again him already, and ’tis 
just taking away our bread to say a bit more 
about it to them folks. George Hewlett is partic- 
ular enough already, without having a work about 
this.” 

Poor Judith! She felt as if she could never be 
at peace with her conscience while she had those 
yellow laburnums in sight in her room, and she did 
not see how restitution and confession could injure 
her brother-in-law; but her code of right and 
wrong was very different from that of either hus- 
band or wife. 

Molly went on maundering about the hardship 
of having taken in a poor helpless thing, and hav- 
ing stood between her and the workhouse, only 
that she should turn a viper and a spy, and take 
her poor children’s bread out of their mouths, for- 
getting that Jem was at the very moment eating 
up the piece of apple-pie that had come with the 
cutlets. 

Judith tried to get her thoughts together, and 


THE SCREEN. 


109 


decided that, however much she might dread 
Dan’s anger, and care for his interest and family 
peace, it was her duty to do her best to recover 
whatever remnant was possible of his booty. So 
when he came home to dinner she ventured to ask 
him if he had a piece left of that paper of her 
screen. 

''Why?” he asked, turning on her as if he 
hoped to make more of whatever he had. 

She told hirn timidly, and it was as she had 
feared. He began abusing her violently for letting 
spies up into her room, and turning against him, 
that let her have her house-room, and " worriting ” 
them all with her hypocritical ways. He could 
tell her there was nothing between her and the 
workhouse. And all was interspersed with oaths 
terrible to hear. 

Molly began taking her part and declaring that 
Judith could not help it if little miss would come 
into her room ; but Dan, who had qualified last 
night’s revel with another mug of ale, was quite 
past all reason, and declared that Judith called the 
girl up on purpose to bring him into trouble, and 
that nothing but harm had ever come of her cant- 
ing, Methody ways, and he had a good mind to 


I lO 


THE CARBONELS. 


kick her out at once to the workhouse, and would 
do so if she brought them Gobblealls down on him 
again. There had been nothing but plague ever 
since they came into the parish, and he wouldn’t 
have them come poll-prying about his house. No, 
he wouldn’t. 

Judith knew this was a vain threat, for he was 
always out of the house when they came ; and she 
also knew that he was the last man to give up the 
small payment that she was in the habit of making 
quarterly, or what was begged from her besides, 
so she was not afraid of any such measure ; but 
she was much shaken, and felt quite ill afterward, 
and Molly did not stint her blame and lamenta- 
tions. Nothing happened in consequence, except 
that from that time forward Dan’s incipient dislike 
to they Gobblealls ” was increased, and they 
could do nothing which he did not find fault with ; 
though his wife, grumbling at them all the time, 
was quite willing to get everything possible out of 
them. 


CHAPtER X. 


INNOVATIONS. 

Timotheus, placed on high 
Among the tuneful choir, 

With flying fingers touched the lyre. 

Dryden. 

N the 1st of October the new beginning 
was to be made. The new curate, Mr. 
Harford, arrived, and spent his first few 
days at Greenhow, while looking out for a lodging 
at Downhill ; for he was to be shared between the 
two parishes as before, and Mr. Atkins still under- 
took to assist on Sundays. Mr. Harford looked very 
young — almost a boy — and was small and thin, 
but not in the least delicate. He had only worked 
off his superfluous flesh in study and parish cares 
at Oxford, and he was likely to do the same in his 
new home. He looked on it as likely to be his 
residence for a long time ; for, as the President had 
already told Mrs. Carbonel, he was engaged to a 




I 12 


THE CARBONELS. 


young lady whose father would not consent to her 
marriage till he had a living worth five hundred 
pounds a year, and there were a good many fel- 
lows senior to him. 

He seemed to have no fears of any amount of 
work, and the first thing he thought of was how 
to arrange for Uphill to have two services on 
Sunday, as he thought could be contrived by giv- 
ing the Downhill people, who mostly lived near 
the church, their second service in the evening 
instead of the morning; and, as Mr. Atkins would 
thus have more to do, he gave up to that gentle- 
man the addition to his stipend which the Presi- 
dent had offered to himself. The boon was great 
to the Greenhow family, who had often been 
hindered by the weather from getting to Downhill. 
Moreover, he had plans for one service and sermon 
in the week, and for a cottage lecture at a distant 
hamlet. 

Also, in the first fortnight of his stay, he had 
called at every house, alike in Downhill and Up- 
hill, to the great surprise of some of the families, 
who had not in the memory of man seen a parson 
cross their threshold. Some did not like it, such 
as old Dame Verdon, who, though she could 


INNOVATIONS. 


3 


hardly get out of bed, was very sore about the 
new school, and when her friends came to see her, 
told them wonderful stories which she had picked 
up — or Lizzie had from some hawker: that the 
gentlefolks thought there were too many children 
for the rates and taxes, and they were going to 
get them all into the school and make an end of 
them. Sometimes she said it was by “ giving of 
them all the cowpox,” as Dame Spurred called 
vaccination, as the fashion was in those parts; 
sometimes it was by sending them all out to 
Botany Bay. 

And as Mrs. Carbonel had prevailed on the new 
gardener’s wife to have her baby vaccinated, and 
George Hewlett’s and Mrs. Mole’s children had 
been thence treated by her own hands, this was 
believed the more, although none of the children 
were visibly the worse for it after the first few 
days; but some of the women and almost all the 
children believed the story, and many of the little 
ones were in fits of terror about the school, so that 
there was a falling off even with the Sunday- 
school. The new school was only an additional 
room to a good-sized cottage, with a couple of 
windows and a brick floor, fitted with forms with- 


14 


THE GARBONELS. 


out backs, but which had at least good firm legs 
to stand upon, pegs for the cloaks and head-gear 
round the walls, and a single desk, likely to be 
quite sufficient for the superior few who were to 
learn writing and summing. The stock, obtained 
from the Society for Promoting Christian Know- 
ledge, consisted of a dozen copies of Mrs. Trim- 
mer’s “Abridgment of the Old Testament,” the 
same number of the lady’s work on the New 
Testament, a packet of little paper books of the 
Sermon on the Mount, the Parables, and the Mir- 
acles, and another packet of little books, where the 
alphabet led the way upward from “ba,” “bo,” 
etc., to “ Our cat can kill a rat ; can she not ? ” Also 
the broken Catechism, and Sellon’s “ Abridgment 
of Instruction on the Catechism.” There were a 
housewife full of needles, some brass thimbles, and 
a roll of calico provided, and this was the apparatus 
with which most village schools would commence. 

Mrs. Thorpe arrived — with her two little girls, 
the neatest of creatures — still wearing her weeds, 
as, indeed, widows engaged in any business used 
to do for life, as a sort of protection. Under her 
crape borders showed the smoothest of hair, and 
her apron was spotlessly white. The two little 


INNOVATIONS. 


II5 

girls were patterns, with short-cut hair, spotted 
blue frocks and checkered pinafores in the week, 
lilac frocks on Sundays ; white capes on that same 
day, and bonnets of coarse straw, tied down with 
green ribbon, over little bonnet-caps with plain 
net frilling, the only attempt at luxury apparent in 
their dress. Their names were Jane and Mary, 
and they looked very pretty and demure, though 
there was a little mischief in Mary’s eyes. Nothing 
could look nicer or more promising in the eyes of 
the sisters when they took her to her cottage ; nor 
could any one be better pleased than she to work 
under her own young ladies, and to have so peace- 
ful a home for her little daughters. She was in- 
troduced to her future scholars on Sunday in the 
wash-house ; and very shy and awkward did they 
look, nor were the numbers as large as usual. 

Mr. Harford came to open the school on Mon- 
day morning, and the ladies met him there. The 
room was in beautiful order, and presently the 
younger Moles, the George Hewletts, the Seddons, 
the Pucklechurch grandchildren, and about half a 
dozen more dropped in ; but no one else appeared, 
and these stood handling their pennies and looking 
sheepish. 


THE CARBONELS, 


I l6 

Mr. Harford, after looking out to see whether 
any one else was coming, addressed them in words 
a little too fine for their comprehension, and then 
read a few prayers ; after which he and Mrs. Car- 
bonel went away, taking the unwilling Sophy to 
her lessons, but leaving Dora to follow when she 
had heard the names called over and inaugurated 
the work. And their journey was enlivened by 
meeting a child with flying hair and ragged gar- 
ments rushing headlong, so as to have only just 
time to turn off short over a gap in a field, where 
some men who were plowing called out, Run, 
little one, run; she’ll catch thee!” with a great 
shouting laugh ; and at the same moment appeared, 
with a big stick in her hand, Nancy Morris in full 
chase, her cap on the back of her head, and look- 
ing not much less wild than her offspring. 

However, she drew up at the sight of the 
clergyman and the lady, pulled her cap forward 
and her apron to the middle, courtesied low, and 
in a voice of conscious merit, though out of breathy 
explained that she was arter Elizabeth,” who 
was that terrifying and contrary that she would 
not go to school. 

Mr. Harford, not quite accustomed to the pop- 


INNOVATIONS. 


II7 

ular use of the verb “ to terrify,” began to ask 
what the child had done to alarm her mother so 
much. And Nancy, understanding him as little, 
said, “ ’Tis all along of Dame Verdon, ma’am. 
She be for to say that the new governess will beat 
them and send them off to Minsterham as sure as 
they’re alive ; and I told Bet not to believe no 
such stuff, but her won’t listen to I — ” 

Mr. Harford was the more mystified. Why 
should she send them to Minsterham ? And what 
was the child afraid of? Mrs. Carbonel had more 
notion. Minsterham was the assize town, and 
going thither was a polite form of mentioning the 
being before a court of justice. 

“ Elizabeth need have no fears of a prison,” she 
said. “ She is a silly child to be.frightened ; but when 
she sees that the other children like school, and that 
nothing happens to them, she will know better. 
Don’t beat her; it will only frighten her more.” 

If it is your will, ma’am, I’ll let her off ; but 
I’ll give her the stick another time, as sure as she 
is alive, the little toad.” 

“ Hopeful,” said the lady and gentleman to each 
other, as soon as she was out of sight and they 
could laugh. 


1 1 8 THE CARBONELS. 

It was indeed uphill work in every sense that 
was before Mrs. Thorpe ; but the effect was visible 
in much improvement in the general demeanor of 
the children. A chair was found for her where 
she sat among them at church, and prevented the 
outrageous misconduct that the ladies had been 
unable effectively to check; and the superior 
readers were gradually acquiring a very cheap 
form of Prayer-book, with only Matins and Even- 
song and the Collects, besides the Psalms. 

But that the children sat on the chancel-steps, 
and that kneeling in church was unknown to them, 
never occurred as an irreverence to any of the 
party ; though, as Mr. Harford read the ante- 
Communion service from the altar instead of dis- 
robing himself of his surplice in the pulpit just 
before the sermon, he had to walk through the 
whole school, making those in his way stand up to 
let him pass. 

The singers, on the establishment of a double 
service, began to absent themselves at least once 
on a Sunday ; so Mr. Harford and the ladies tried 
to arrange for the singing of the children instead. 
He had no knowledge of music — which was then 
thought a rather doubtful accomplishment for a 


INNOVATIONS. 


II9 

young man — and Mrs. Thorpe had, if possible, less ; 
so all that could be done was for Dora to train the 
children by ear; and she found that their thin, 
shrill notes were held as painful by all save a few 
doting mothers, her sisters, and herself. The cap- 
tain laughed at her, and finally promised her a 
grinding organ. It came ; it could play four tunes ; 
and all the singers were naturally offended. But 
on the first Sunday there was a great catastrophe ; 
for when once set on it would not stop, but went 
on playing its four tunes long after the Old Hun- 
dred was finished. Mr. Harford waited to begin 
the Prayer for King George till it had finished, 
hoping that it would stop, if not at the end of the 
second tune, at least at the fourth ; but behold, 
it started off with the Old Hundred again, upon 
which Captain Carbonel emerged from his pew, 
and, with the help of Master Pucklechurch, bore 
it out into the churchyard, where it continued to 
play till after the service, when there was time to 
check its pertinacity by adjustment of the machin- 
ery. At its best, the singers — even George Hew- 
lett — were much hurt, and the compromise was 
made that it never should uplift its voice when they 
were present in full force with bass, flute, and 


120 


THE CARBONELS, 


viol, but should only draw forth its four tunes 
when there were only the children to need the 
accompaniment 

Even then, Dan Hewlett, who unluckily had the 
best voice of all, swore that he would never come 
to church again while they had that there horgin 
to buzz away like a big bumbledore.” And he 
kept his word. 

*^You see, ma’am, he has his feelings,” said 
Molly. 

He would fain have made all his family join in 
the secession; but Johnnie would not be kept 
away from Sunday-school, and Molly had heard 
rumors of penny clubs and of prizes at Christmas ; 
so, though the other children were very irregular, 
she kept them on after a fashion. 


CHAPTER XL 


AN UNPROFITABLE CROP. 

My mother bids me bind my hair. 

Old Ballad. 

MARY, Mary, what is to be done about 
the hair?” cried Sophy one Sunday 
after church. 

Isn’t it dreadful ? ” said Dora. “ Those fear- 
ful curl-papers sticking out with rolls of old news- 
papers ! I told them it was not fit to be seen last 
Sunday, but there were even Elizabeth and Jane 
Hewlett in them to-day.” 

"'Yes,” said Mary; they said their mother’s 
aunt was coming to tea, so she had curled them 
before they came out. I told them I would ex- 
cuse it for this once, but that I should send any 
one home who came such a figure on Sunday.” 

Elizabeth and Jane, be it observed, were George 
Hewlett’s daughters, the most civilized, if the 
dullest-witted, of the flock. Polly, Betsy, and 

I2I 




122 


THE CARBONELS. 


Judy were the children of Dan Hewlett. As a 
rule, all the old women of the parish were called 
Betty, all the middle-aged Lizzie, and the girls 
Elizabeth. 

'' It is worse on week-days,” said Dora. '' One 
would think it was a collection of little porcu- 
pines!” 

And so dirty,” began Sophy. But she was 
hushed up, for Edmund was seen approaching, 
and Mary never allowed him to be worried with 
the small, fretting details of school life. 

It was a time when it was the fashion for young 
ladies up to their teens to have their hair curled 
in ringlets round their heads or on their shoulders. 
Sophy’s hair curled naturally, and had been 
“ turned up ” ever since she had come to live at 
home in the dignity of fourteen ; but she and both 
her sisters wore falls of drooping ringlets in front, 
and in Mary’s case these had been used to be 
curled in paper at night, though she would as soon 
have been seen thus decorated by day as in her 
night- cap. But there was scarcely another matron 
in the parish who did not think a fringe of curl- 
paper the proper mode of disposing of her locks 
when in morning dishabille, unless she were elderly 


AJV UNPROFITABLE CROP. 123 

and wore a front, which could be taken off and 
put on with the best cap. 

Maid-servants wore short curls or smooth folds 
round side-combs under net caps, and this was the 
usual trim of the superior kind of women. The 
working-women wore thick white muslin caps, 
under which, it was to be hoped, their hair was 
cut short, though often it straggled out in un- 
seemly elf-locks. Married women did not go 
bareheaded — not even the younger ladies — except 
in the evening, when, like their maiden sisters, 
they wore coils of their back hair round huge up- 
right ornamental combs on the summit of their 
heads. 

But the children’s heads were deservedly pain 
and grief to the Carbonel senses, and Mary was 
impelled to go and make a speech in school, desir- 
ing that no more curl-papers should appear there 
on Sundays, and recommending that all hair should 
be kept short, as her own and her sisters’ had been, 
till the fit age for the turning up ” was attained. 
She called up Susan Pucklechurch and Rachel 
Mole, who had nice smooth hair neatly parted in 
the middle, and declared them to be examples of 
the way that heads ought to appear. 


T24 


THE CARBONELS. 


That afternoon the women stood out at their 
gates. So the lady told you to take pattern by 
Widdy Mole’s child, did her? ” said Nanny Barton, 
loud enough for all her neighbors to hear. 

“ Aye, mother, by Rachel Mole and Susie 
Pucklechurch.” 

As if I’d go out of my way to follow after a 
mean creeper and low thing like Widow Mole!” 
exclaimed Mrs. Barton. 

“ She knows which way her bread is buttered ! 
A-making favorites!” exclaimed Nancy Morris. 

‘‘ Getting in to work in the garding away from 
Farmer Goodenough, as her man had worked for 
for years; aye, and his before un,” chimed in 
Nanny Barton. 

And if you could see the platefuls and cupfuls 
as the ladies carries out to her,” added Betsy 
Seddon. My word and honor! No wonder she 
is getting lively enough just to bust some day.” 

‘‘ That’s the way she comes over them,” said 
Nanny Barton. 

“ That’s what them gentlefolks likes, and Bessy 
Mole she knows it,” observed Nancy Morris, at 
which they all laughed shrilly. 

“ As though I’d take pattern by her! ” exclaimed 


AJV UNPROFITABLE CROP, 


125 


Nanny Barton. “ Fd liefer take pattern by Softy 
Sam or Goodenough’s old scarecrow.” 

“Whatever’s that?” demanded Tirzah, coming 
out of the ‘'Fox and Hounds.” “What have 
they been after now ? ” 

“Just the lady’s been a-preachin’ down at that 
there school how that she don’t want no curl- 
papers there, and that all the poor children’s heads 
is to be clipped like boys’ ; and setting up that 
there Rachel Mole’s bowl-dish of a poll to set the 
fashion.” 

“There! As I telled you!” said Tirzah. 
“That’s the way gentry always goes on if they 
gets their way — ” 

“ They just hates to see a curl or a bit of rib- 
bon,” added Betsy Seddon. 

“ Or to see one have a bit of pleasure,” added 
Nancy Morris. “ Pucklechurches and Mole they 
never durst send their poor children to the fair — ” 

“ And to hear the lady run out ag’in’ me for 
just having a drop of beer,” exclaimed Nanny 
Barton. “Nothing warn’t bad enough for me! 
As if she hadn’t her wine and all the rest of it! 

And a poor woman mayn’t touch one draft, if it 
)) 


is ever so — 


26 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ Well, you know, Nan, you’d had a bit more 
than enough,” said Tirzah. 

“ Well, and what call to that was hern or 
yourn? ” cried Nanny, facing upon her. 

“ A pretty job I had to get you home that 
night,” said Tirzah. And they all laughed. 
“ And you wouldn’t be here now if Tom Postboy 
hadn’t pulled up his horses in time.” 

“ And was it for her to cast up to me if I was a 
bit overtaken?” demanded Nanny. 

It may be supposed that after such a conversa- 
tion as this there was not much chance of the 
bowl-dish setting the fashion. There was not the 
same ill temper and jealousy of Susan Puckle- 
church being held up as an example, for her family 
were the natural hangers-on of Greenhow, and 
were, besides, always neater and better dressed 
than the others ; but Mrs. Mole was even poorer 
than themselves, and had worked with them, even 
while “ keeping herself to herself ” — a great offense 
in their eyes. Thus nobody was inclined to follow 
the clipped fashion, except one or two meeker 
women, who had scarcely seen that their girls’ hair 
was getting beyond bounds. It is to be remem- 
bered that seventy years ago long hair could 


AJV UNPROFITABLE CROP. 


127 


hardly be kept in respectable trim by busy 
mothers working in the fields, and with much less 
power of getting brushes and combs than at pres- 
ent ; so that the crops were almost the only means 
of securing cleanliness and tidiness, and were worn 
also by all the little daughters of such gentry as 
did not care for fashion, nor for making them sleep 
on a ring of lumps as big as walnuts. So that 
Mrs. Carbonel and her sisters really wished for 
what was wholesome and proper when they tried 
to make the children conform to their rules, if the 
women could only have seen it so, instead of 
resenting the interference. 

Sunday brought George Hewlett’s two girls 
with their hair fastened up in womanly guise, and 
their cousins becurled as before; but there was 
nothing particularly untidy, and Mary held her 
peace. 

However, the war was not over; and one day, 
when, after a short absence, Dora and Sophy went 
into the school, they found five or six girls bris- 
tling with twists of old newspapers, and others in 
a still more objectionable condition, with wild, un- 
kempt hair about their necks; and the half-dozen 
really neat ones were on the form around Mrs. 


28 


THE CARBONELS. 


Thorpe, who proceeded to tell Dora that she was 
quite in despair: the more she spoke to the girls 
about tidy heads the worse they were ; and she 
was really afraid to let her own children or the 
clean ones sit near the dirty ones. 

Dora’s spirit was roused. "‘Very well,” she 
said, “ Mrs. Carbonel and I will not be disobeyed. 
Come here, Lizzie Barton. Your head is disgrace- 
ful. Lend me your scissors, Mrs. Thorpe.” 

Lizzie Barton began to cry, with her knuckles 
in her eyes, and would not stir; but Dora was 
resolute. One child made a rush for the door; 
but Dora desired Sophy to stand by the door and 
bar the passage, and called Mrs. Thorpe to hold 
Lizzie Barton, who certainly was a spectacle, with 
half a dozen horns twisted out of old advertise- 
ment papers, but the rest of her hair flying in dis- 
gusting elf-locks. She was cowed, however, into 
standing quiet till her appendages had been sheared 
oflf by the determined scissors. “ There, I am 
sure you must be much more comfortable,” Dora 
assured her. “ Get your mother to wash your 
head, and you will look so nice to-morrow. Now 
then, Betsy Hewlett.” 

Betsy cried, but submitted ; but the next victim. 


An unprofitable crop. 


i^9 

Sally French, howled and fought, and said 
“mammy would not have it done.” But Dora 
sternly answered, “Then she should keep your 
head fit to be seen.” And Mrs. Thorpe held 
down her hands, with whispers of “ Now, my deai, 
don’t.” 

And so it went on through nineteen girls, the 
boys sniggering all the time. Some cried and 
struggled, but latterly they felt it was their fate, 
and resisted no longer. Even Mary Cox, who had 
a curly head by nature, stood still to be clipped. 
Dora’s hands were in a dreadful state, and her 
mind began to quail a little ; but, having once 
started, she felt bound to go on and complete her 
work ; and when she finally dismissed the school, 
there was a very undesirable heap of locks, brown, 
black, and carroty, interspersed with curl-papers, 
on the floor. The girls looked, to her mind, far 
better; and Mrs! Thorpe, a little doubtful, gave 
her a basin of water to wash her hands. 

Home the two sisters went, their spirits rising 
as they laughed over their great achievement and 
looked forward to amusing Mary with the account 
of the various behavior of the victims. 

So they burst upon her as she was planting 


TkE carbOnels, 


iso 

bulbs in the garden, and Edmund helping her by 
measuring distances. 

O Mary, such fun!” cried Sophy. We have 
been cutting all the children’s hair.” 

“What do you mean, Sophy?” 

“ They had their heads worse than ever,” said 
Dora, “ so I took Mrs. Thorpe’s scissors and 
clipped them all round.” 

“ My dear Dora, I wish you had not been so 
hasty,” Mary was gently saying. But Edmund 
was standing up, looking quite judicial. 

“Did you get their parents’ permission?” he 
demanded. 

“ No; of course I never should.” 

“ Then what right had you to meddle with the 
children? ” 

“They were quite horrid. My hands! They’ll 
never recover,” said Dora, spreading out her 
fingers. 

“Very likely; but the children were not youy 
slaves. You have a perfect right to forbid them to 
enter your school except on certain conditions, but 
not to tyrannize over them when there. You have 
done more harm than you will undo in a hurry.” 

“ I am afraid so,” murmured Mary. 


AN UNPROFITABLE CROP. 


31 


Dora had a temper, and answered, angrily, 
“ Well, I’m sure I did it for the best.” 

“ I don’t approve of opinionative young ladies,” 
said Edmund, who was really, from old habit, quite 
like an elder brother. 

”0 Dora,” sighed Mary, “don’t!” 

Dora felt impelled to argue the matter out on 
the spot, but something in Mary’s look withheld 
her. She went away, stepping high and feeling 
stately and proud; but when she had walked up 
and down her own room a few times her better 
sense began to revive, and she saw that she had 
acted in anger and self-will quite as much as from 
a sense of propriety, and she threw herself on her 
bed and shed some bitter tears. 

They would have been still more bitter if she 
could have heard the exclamations of the mothers 
over their gates that evening. 

“ Well, to be sure, that a young lady should 
have treated my poor maid like that!” 

“ Her father says, says he, ^ I’ll have the law of 
she.’ ” 

“ My Jenny she come home looking like a poor 
mad woman. ' Whatever has thee been arter ? ’ 
says I. ' ’Tis the lady,’ says she.” 


132 


THE tARBONELS. 


Lady ! She ought to be ashamed on herself, 
a-making such Betties of the poor children.” 

Ah! didn’t I tell you,” gibed Tirzah, “what 
would come of making up to the gentlefolk, with 
their soft words and such? They only want to 
have their will of you, just like the blackamoors.” 

“You’ll not find me a-sending my Liz and 
Nan,” cried Mrs. Morris; “no, not if her was to 
offer me a hundred goulden guineas.” 

“ I don’t let my gal go to be made into a guy I ” 
was the general sentiment. And Mrs. Verdon, in 
her bed, intensified it by warning her neighbors 
that the cropping of their heads was “ a prepara- 
tion for sending them out to them foreign parts • 
where they has slaves.” 

And on Sunday there were only ten of the 
female pupils at school, and poor Dora and Sophia 
both cried all church-time. They thought their 
hasty measures had condemned their poor girls 
to be heathens and good-for-nothings for ever 
and ever. 

Tirzah Todd laughed at them all. The Todds 
had gipsy connections. Todd himself was hardly 
ever visible. He was never chargeable to the 
parish, but he never did regular work except at 


AJ^ UNPROFITABLE CROP, 133 

hay and harvest times, or when he was cutting 
copsewood. Then old Pucklechurch’s brother, 
Master Pucklechurch of Downhill, who always 
managed the copse-cutting, used to. hire him, and 
they and another man lived in a kind of wigwam 
made of chips, and cut down the seven years’ 
growth of underwood, dividing it into pea-sticks 
from the tops, and splitting the thicker parts to be 
woven into hurdles or made into hoops for barrels. 
They had a little fire, but their wives brought 
them their food, and little Hoglah delighted to 
toddle among the chips and cry out, “ Pitty ! 
pitty!” at the primroses. 

Copse-cutting over, Joe Todd haunted fairs and 
drove cattle home, or did anything he could pick 
up. He lived in a mud-hovel which he and Tirzah 
had built for themselves on the borderland, and 
where they kept a tall, thin, smooth-haired dog, 
with a gray coat, a white waistcoat, a long nose 
and tail, and blue eyes, which gave him a pecu- 
liarly sinister expression of countenance; and he 
had a habit of leaping up and planting his fore 
feet on the gate, growling, so that Dora and 
Sophy were very much afraid of him, and no one 
except Mr. Harford had ever attempted to effect 


134 


THE CARBONELS. 


an entrance into the cottage. It was pretty well 
understood that Joe Todd and his lurcher carried 
on a business as poachers ; and Tirzah, going about 
with clothes-pegs, rush-baskets, birch-brooms, and, 
in their season, with blackberries, whortleberries, 
or plovers’ eggs, was able to dispose of their game 
to the poulterers at Minsterham, with whom she 
had an understanding. Her smiling black eyes, 
white teeth, and merry looks caused a great deal 
of business to be done through her, and servants 
were not unwilling to carry in her stories about 
rabbits knocked down unawares by a stick, and 
pheasants or partridges killed by chance in reaping. 
Indeed, she had a little trade in dripping and other 
scraps with sundry of these servants, which ren- 
dered them the more disposed to receive her. 


CHAPTER XII. 


PRIZES. 

Miss Jenny and Polly 
Had each a new dolly, 

With rosy red cheeks and blue eyes, 

Dressed in ribbons and gauze; 

And they quarreled because 
The dolls were not both of a size. 

The Daisy. 

OBODY offered a hundred golden guin- 
eas to bring Elizabeth and Anne Morris 
to school; nevertheless they appeared 
there at the end of the second week. They were 
heartily tired of home, where there was washing 
to be done, and their eldest sister Patty banged 
them about, and they had no peace from the great 
heavy baby. Besides, there had been a talk of 
prizes at Christmas, and they weren’t going to let 
them Moles and Pucklechurches get the whole of 
them. Moreover, others were going back, so why 
should not they? 



135 


THE CARBONEL^, 


136 

Yes, Nanny Barton’s children “ did terrify her 
so she had no peace.” And Betsy Seddon’s Janie 
had torn her frock as there was no bearing. And 
even the Dan Hewletts were going back. Little 
Judy had cried to go, and her Aunt Judith had 
trimmed up the heads of her sisters, for Dora Car- 
bonel had not been a first-rate hair-cutter. And 
it was nearly the same with every one, except the 
desperate truant, Ben Shales, and the cobbler’s 
little curly girl, who was sent all the way to Down- 
hill to Miss Minifer’s genteel academy, where she 
learned beadwork and very little besides. 

The affair seemed to have done less harm than 
C^tain Carbonel had expected ; yet, on the other 
hand, the motives that brought most of the schol- 
ars back were, not any real desire for improvement, 
but rather the , desire of being interested and the 
hope of rewards. It would take a long time to 
make the generality of the people regard “ they 
Gobblealls ” as anything but curious kind of crea- 
tures, to be humored for the sake of what could 
be got out of them. 

Of the positive love of God and their neighbor, 
and the strong sense of duty that actuated them, 
few of the Uphill inhabitants had the least notion. 


PRIZES. 


137 


It would be much to say that if these motives were 
always present with Edmund and Mary, it was so 
in the same degree with Dora and Sophy ; but to 
them the school-children were the great interest, 
occupation, and delight, and their real affection 
and sympathy, so far as they understood, were 
having their effect. 

They were hard at work at those same prizes, 
which filled almost as much of their minds as they 
could of the expectant recipients’, and occupied 
their fingers a good deal. And, after all, what 
would the modern scholar think of those same 
prizes ? The prime ones of all, the Bible and 
Prayer-book, were of course, in themselves, as 
precious then as now ; but each was bound in the 
very plainest of dark-brown calf, though, to tell 
the truth, far stronger than their successors, and 
with the leaves much better sewn in. There was 
only one of each of these, for Susan Pucklechurch 
and Johnnie Hewlett, who were by far the fore- 
most scholars in the Sunday-school. 

Then followed two New Testaments and two 
Psalters, equally brown, for the next degree. 
Sophy had begged for stories, but none were to 
be had within the appointed sum except Hannah 


138 


THE CARBONELS. 


More’s “ Cheap Repository Tracts,” really inter- 
esting, but sent forth without wrappers in their 
native black and white. Then there was a manu- 
facture by the busy fingers of frocks made of rem- 
nants of linsey and print, of sun-bonnets of pink 
or blue spotted calico, of pinafores and round 
capes, the least of all these being the list tippet, made 
of the listing of flannel, sewn on either in rays 
upon a lining, or in continued rows from the neck, 
having rather the effect of a shell. There were 
pincushions, housewives, and work-bags, too, and 
pictured pocket-handkerchiefs; and Sophy would 
not be denied a few worsted balls for the very 
small boys, and sixpennyworth of wooden dolls for 
the lesser girls — creatures with painted faces, and 
rolls of linen for arms, nailed on to bodies that 
ended in a point; but all deficiencies were con-, 
cealed by the gay print petticoats which she con- 
structed, and as neither toys nor the means of 
buying them were plentiful, these would be grand 
rewards. 

The Christmas tree had not yet begun to spring 
in England, magic lanterns were tiny things only 
seen in private, and even such festivities as the tea 
had not dawned on the scholastic mind. So, on 


PRIZES, 


139 


the afternoon of Christmas day, all the children 
were assembled in school before Mr. Harford, the 
ladies, and the schoolmistress ; while the table was 
loaded with books and garments, and beside it 
stood a great flasket brimming over with substan- 
tial currant buns, gazed on eagerly by the little 
things, some of whom had even had a scanty 
Christmas dinner. Such a spectacle had never 
been seen before in Uphill, and their hungry eyes 
devoured it beforehand. 

Mr. Harford made them a short speech about 
goodness, steadiness, and diligence; and then the 
distribution began with the two prime Sunday 
scholars, and went on in due order of merit, 
through all degrees, down to the mites who had 
the painted dolls and figured handkerchiefs with 
.^sop’s fables in pink or in purple. And then 
followed the distribution of buns — stout plum 
buns — no small treat to these ever-hungry chil- 
dren, some of whom were nibbling them before 
they were out of school, while others, more praise- 
worthy, kept them to share with “ our baby ” at 
home. 

Johnnie Hewlett received a Bible, his sister 
Polly a warm cape, Betsy a petticoat, little Judy 


140 


THE CARBONELS. 


a doll. But on the very last' Sunday, Jem, always 
a black sheep, had been detected in kicking Jisnny 
Morris at church over a screw of peppermint-drops 
which they had clubbed together to purchase from 
Goody Spurrell. The scent and Jenny’s sobs had 
betrayed them in the thick of the combat; and in 
the face of so recent and so flagrant a misdemeanor 
neither combatant could be allowed a prize, though 
the buns were presented to them through Mary’s 
softness of heart. 

These stayed the tears for the moment, but a 
fresh shower was pumped up by Jem for the 
sympathetic reception of his mother. “ It was a 
shame, it was ! But they ladies always had a spite 
at the poor little lad. He should have some nice 
bull’s-eyes to make up to him, that he should ! 
What call had they to be at him when it was all 
along of that there nasty little Jenny?” 

Nevertheless, at the gate she shared her wrath 
with Jenny’s mother. What call had they to want 
to make the poor children to be like parsons at 
church? Jem shouldn’t be there no more, she 
could tell them. 

Then Nanny Barton chimed in: “And look 
what they did give! Just a twopenny-halfpenny 


PRIZES. 


I4I 

handkercher that her Tom would be ashamed to 
wear ! ” 

He wasn’t, for it was thick and warm, and had 
been chosen because his poor little neck looked so 
blue. But Nanny went on : Ladies did ought to 
know what became ’em to give. There was my 
Lady Duchess, she gave ’em all scarlet cloaks and 
stuff frocks, as there was some warmth in. That 
was worth having — given to all alike! No talk 
of prizes, for what I’d not demean myself to pick 
up out of the gutter.” 

And look at mine,” proceeded Molly. '' My 
Johnnie’s got a Bible, as if there wasn’t another in 
the house, let alone Judith’s. His father he did 
say he’d pawn it ; but Johnnie he cried, and Judith 
made a work and hid it for him. But his father 
he says he wouldn’t have Johnnie made religious, 
not for nothing — Judith she’s quite bad enough. 
Oh! our Polly — she got a little skimping cape, 
what don’t come down to her poor little elbows. 
If I went for to be a lady. I’d be ashamed to give 
the like of that.” 

Happily every one did not receive the gifts in 
this spirit. There was much rejoicing over the 
Testament, frock, and Psalter of the little Moles, 


142 


THE CARBONELS: 


and their grandfather observed, Well, you did 
ought to be good children ; there were no such 
encouragements when I was young.” 

“ Except your big old Bible, granfer,” put in 
Bessy. 

That was give me by our old parson when 
me and your granny was married. Aye, he did 
catechize we in church when we was children, but 
we never got nothing for it.” 

“ Only the knowing it, father, and that you 
have sent on to us,” put in the widow. 

Aye, and that's the thing! ” said the old man, 
very gravely. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


AGAINST THE GRAIN. 

And shall the heirs of sinful blood 
Find joy unmixed in charity ? 

Keble. 

HESE first beginnings were really hard 
work, and there was a great amount of 
unpopularity to be encountered, for the 
people of Uphill were so utterly unused to kind- 
ness that they could not believe that anything was 
done for them from disinterested motives. Cap- 
tain Carbonel took great trouble to set up a coal- 
club, persuading the President of St. Cyril’s and 
the neighboring landowners to subscribe, and the 
farmers to fetch the coal, on the plea that to have 
fuel on low terms would save the woods and 
hedges from destruction. Tirzah especially, and 
half a dozen women besides, were to be met with 
great fagots of limbs of trees on their backs from 
Mr. Selby.’s woods ; and the keepers were held to 



143 


44 


THE CARBONELS. 


wink at it, for, in truth, the want of fuel was ter- 
rible. Mr. Selby talked of withholding his yearly 
contribution of blankets, because the people were 
so ungrateful. '' As if it would do them any good 
to make them colder!” cried Dora. 

So at last it was arranged that one of the barns 
should be filled with coal, and Captain Carbonel 
and Mr. Harford, with old Pucklechurch, were to 
see it served out at sixpence a bushel every Mon- 
day morning. And then Pucklechurch reported 
that the people said, “ Depend on it, the captain 
made a good thing of it.” So, when he divided 
one of his fields into allotment gardens for those 
who had portions too scanty for the growth of 
their potatoes, though he let them off at a rate 
which brought in rent below the price of land in 
the parish, the men were ready enough to hire 
them, but they followed Dan Hewlett’s lead in 
believing that “ that Gobbleall knowed what he 
was about, and made a good thing of it”; while 
the farmers, like Mr. Goodenough, were much 
displeased, declaring that the allotments would 
only serve as an excuse for pilfering. Truly, 
whatever good was attempted in Uphill had to be 
done against the stream, for nobody seemed to be 


AGAINST THE GRAIN. 


145 


on the side of the Carbonels except Mr. Harford 
and a few of the poor, such as the old Puckle- 
churches, Widow Mole and her father, the George 
Hewletts, and poor Judith Grey, besides all the 
better children, who were easily won. 

It made the more difficulty that though Captain 
Carbonel was a patient man in deed, did not set 
his expectations too high, and bore, in fact, with 
an amazing amount of disappointment and mis- 
understanding, yet he was not patient in word, and 
was apt to speak very sharply when indignant with 
cruelty, shuffiing, or, what was more unlucky, with 
stupidity. The men used to declare that he swore 
at them, which was perfectly untrue, for a profane 
word never crossed his lips ; but when he was very 
angry he spoke in a tone that perhaps might 
excuse them for thinking that his reproofs were 
flavored as had been the abuse to which they were 
only too well accustomed. 

The tormentors of poor Softy Sam always slunk 
out of reach at the most distant report of the 
approach of the captain, the curate, or the ladies ; 
but the men never understood their objections to 
the sport that had hitherto been freely afforded 
by the idiot, and had a general idea that the 


146 THE CARBONELS. 

gentlefolk disliked whatever afforded them amuse- 
ment. 

George Hewlett, indeed, knew better ; but then 
he had never joined in baiting Softy Sam, and, 
indeed, had more than once sheltered him from 
his enemies and given him a bit of food. But 
George in his own line was dull and unapt to learn, 
or the whole adventure of the Greenhow drawing- 
room paper would never have happened. He 
might have had it put up wrongly — for that was 
wholly the defect of his perceptions — but Dan 
would not have been able to secure his unlawful 
gains. In fact, Dan had traded on his cousin’s 
honest, straightforward blindness and stupidity a 
good many times already. 

Captain Carbonel stormed at George when he 
failed to understand directions, or cut a bit of 
wood to waste, but without loss of confidence ; 
and before long Master Hewlett came to accept it 
as the captain’s way, and to trust him as a really 
kind and liberal employer. And, unluckily, he 
did not always heed the rating so loudly given, or 
rather he did not set his mind to comprehend what 
lay a little out of his usual beat, and thus gave 
additional provocation; though still Captain Car- 


AGAINST THE GRAIN. 


147 


bonel bore with him, and would not have rejected 
him in favor of the far smarter carpenter at Down- 
hill on any of these provocations. 

Dan, who was a much sharper fellow, could 
have helped a great deal ; but his back was up at 
the first word, and he would do nothing but sulk. 
Moreover, George himself detected him doing 
away with some wood out of that which was to 
make Farmer Goodenough’s farm gates, under 
color that it was a remnant only fit for firewood. 
Having already announced that he would never 
again employ his cousin after another of these 
peculations, he kept to his word, and in spite of 
Molly’s tears and abuse, and Dan’s deeper objur- 
gations, he persisted. Daniel tried to get work at 
Downhill, but all the time declared that them 
Gobblealls was at the bottom of it, having a spite 
at him. 

Just at this time Captain Carbonel was driving 
the phaeton, with his wife in it, home from El- 
chester; when, just as they were passing Todd’s 
house, a terrible scream was heard — shrieks that 
did not mean naughtiness, but agony — and a flame 
was visible within the door. In one moment the 
captain was over the wicket, past the lurcher, 


148 


THE CARBONELS. 


dragging with him his great old military cloak, 
which had been over Mary’s knees. Another 
second and he had wrapped little Hoglah in it 
from top to toe, stifling the flames by throwing 
her down and holding her tight ; while her mother 
came flying in from the garden, and Mary, throw- 
ing the reins of the horse to the servant, hur- 
ried in. 

Tirzah was screaming and sobbing : "" My child ! 
My dear! O Hoggie! Hoggie! Is she dead? 
Oh!” 

No, no ; I think not,” said the captain. And, 
indeed, no sooner did he begin to unroll her than 
cries broke out — very sufficient answer as to the 
child’s being alive ; and as her mother vehemently 
clasped her they grew more agonizing. 

'' Let me see how much she is burned,” said 
Mrs. Carbonel. “You had better not squeeze 
her; it makes it worse.” 

The child’s poor little neck and bosom proved 
to have been sadly burned. Her mother had been 
heating the oven, and had gone out to fetch fresh 
fagots, when the little one, trying in baby-fashion 
to imitate the proceedings, had set her pinafore 
on fire. Many more children were thus destroyed 


AGAINST THE GRAIN. 


149 


then than now, when they do not wear so much 
cotton, nor such long frocks and pinafores. 

Poor little Hoglah screamed and moaned ter- 
ribly, and the thought of her being unbaptized 
came with a shock across Mrs. Carbonel. How- 
ever, she did not think the injuries looked fatal, 
and, speaking gently to soothe the mother, as she 
saw the preparations for baking, she said, “ I think 
we can give her a little ease, my dear, my dear.” 

Tirzah was sobbing, screaming, and calling on 
her dear child, quite helpless at the moment, while 
Mary took the moaning child. Captain Carbonel, 
with his own knife (finding it more effective than 
the blunt old knife on the table), cut off the re- 
mains of the little garments, which had become 
tinder, and then handed his wife the flour in a sort 
of scoop ; and as she sptinkled it over the burned 
surface the shrieks and moans abated and gradu- 
ally died away, and the child muttered,^' Nice, nice,” 
and another word or two, which her mother 
understood as asking for something to drink. 
Beer, to Mary’s dismay, was the only thing at 
hand; but after a sup of that the little thing’s 
black eyes closed, and she said something of 
“mammy” and “by-by.” The great old cradle 


THE CARBONELS. 


150 

Stood by, still used, though the child was three 
years old, and Mrs. Carbonel laid her carefully 
in it. 

“ I think she will get well,” said she to the 
mother, only you must not let the flour be dis- 
turbed on any account.” She had arranged hand- 
kerchiefs — her own and a red one of Tirzah’s — to 
cover the dressing. ” I will send you some milk, 
and don’t let the coverings be disturbed. Let her 
lie ; only give her milk when she wants it ; and I 
will come to see her to-morrow.” 

Tirzah was sobbing quietly now, but she got 
out a choked question as to whether the child 
could get well. 

Oh yes ; no fear of that, if you let the flour 
alone, as Mrs. Carbonel tells you,” said the captain. 

''Oh, oh, if it wasn’t for you — ” the mother 
began. 

But Edmund wanted to get his wife away before 
there was a scene, and cut it short with, " There, 
there! We’ll come again. Only let her alone, 
and don’t meddle with the flour.” 

Tirzah did what no native of Uphill would have 
thought of. She clasped Mrs. Carbonel’s hand, 
threw herself on her knees, and kissed it. 


AGAINST THE GRAIN 


151 

“ Thank God, not me,” said Mary, much moved. 
” But you will give her to God now, and let her 
be baptized. I think she will live, but it ought to 
be as God’s child.” 

When the curate came in a little later to hear 
how the child was, Tirzah allowed him to baptize 
her privately. It might partly have been the 
dread of missing the Burial Service, but far more 
because in this present mood she was ready to do 
anything for madam. 

Even when the neighbors thronged in, and Mrs. 
Spurred wanted to take the child up, pull off the 
flour, and anoint her with oil and spirit, she would 
not hear of it. 

“ They as saved her shall have their will of 
her,” said she. 

“ Saved her ! She’ll sleep herself off to death ! 
What’s the good of simple stuff like that, with no 
sting nor bite in it?” said Nanny Barton. 

“ Aye,” said Mrs. Spurred, this ile as my 
great-aunt gave me, as they said was a white 
witch, with ad her charrums, is right sovereign! 
Why, I did Jenny Truman’s Sally with it when 
her arm was burned.” 

Aye, and you could hear her holler ad over 


152 


THE CARBONELS. 


the place,” said Tirzah ; “ and sheVe no use of her 
arm, poor maid! No, you sha’n’t touch my child 
nohow.” 

Tirzah kept her word ; and Mrs. Carbonel came 
every day and doctored the child, and Sophy 
brought her a doll, which kept her peaceful for 
hours. The lurcher never barked at them, but 
seemed to understand their mission. And a won- 
derful old gipsy grandmother of Tirzah’s, with 
eyes like needles and cheeks like brown leather, 
came and muttered charms over the child, and 
believed her cure was owing to them ; but she left 
a most beautiful basket, white and purple, for a 
present to the lady. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


AN OFFER REJECTED. 


Oft in Life’s stillest shade reclining, 

In desolation unrepining, 

Without a hope on earth to find 
A mirror in an answering mind. 

Meek souls there are who little deem 
Their daily strife an angel’s theme. 

Keble. 

N the spring Dora was invited to spend a 
few weeks with an old family friend in 
London, where there were daughters 
who had always been her holiday friends, and with 
whom she exchanged letters, on big square pages 
of paper, filled to the very utmost with small, 
delicate handwriting, crossed over so that they 
looked like checkerwork, and going into all the 
flaps and round the seal. They did not come 
above once in a month or six weeks, and contained 
descriptions of what the damsels had seen, thought, 
153 



154 


THE CARBONELS. 


heard, read, or felt ; so that they were often really 
worth the eightpence that had to be paid on their 
reception. 

Edmund, who had business in London, took 
his sister-in-law there, driving old Major to the 
cross-roads, where they met the stage-coach. He 
went outside, on the box-seat, and she in the dull 
and close-packed interior, where four persons and 
one small child had to make the best of their 
quarters for the six hours that the journey lasted. 
Tired, headachy, and dusty with March dust, at 
last Dora emerged, and was very glad to rattle 
through the London streets in a hackney-coach to 
Mr. Elwood's tall house, where there was a warm 
welcome ready for her. 

But we need not hear of the pictures she saw, 
nor the music she heard, nor the plays she enjoyed, 
nor the parties she went to during that thorough 
holiday — though perhaps some would not call it a 
holiday, since the morning was spent in lessons in 
music, drawing, and Italian, in practising these 
same lessons, and in reading history aloud, the 
reading of some lighter book being an evening 
pleasure when the family were alone. Dora 
would not have enjoyed it half so much if it had 


AJV OFFER REJECTED. 


155 


not been for the times of real solid thought and 
interest. Her friends, too, had some poems still 
in manuscript lent to them, which made an im- 
mense impression on the young souls, and which 
they all learned and discussed on Sundays, trying 
to enter into their meaning, and insensibly getting 
molded by them. They were the poems that 
Dora knew a few years later as the “ Christian 
Year.” They made her home-work still dearer to 
her ; and she had never let her interest fade among 
all her pleasures, but she was accumulating little 
gifts for the children, for Betty Pucklechurch, 
Widow Mole, Judith Grey, and the rest. 

One day, when some intimate friends of the 
Elwoods were spending the day with them, some- 
thing was said about Dora’s home ; and one of the 
visitors exclaimed, '' Uphill — Uphill, near Pop- 
pleby — is that the place? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then I wonder whether you can tell me any- 
thing about our dear old nursery-maid, Judith 
Grey?” 

“Judith Grey! Oh yes! She is the very 
nicest person in all Uphill,” cried Dora. “ Is it 
’‘^our father that gives her a pension? ” 


THE CARBONELS. 


156 

“Yes. You know it was while carrying little 
Selina downstairs that she put her foot into the 
string of James’s humming-top and tumbled down 
all the stone stairs. She managed to save Selina 
— dear old Judy! — but she hurt her back most 
dreadfully, and she can’t ever be well again; so 
papa gives her an allowance. She writes cheer- 
fully, but we should like to hear more about her. 
We all were so fond of her.” 

“ Indeed, I don’t wonder. She is so good and 
patient — such a dear thing! Mary and I call her 
the bright spot in our parish.” 

“ She lives with a sister, I think. Is she nice? ” 

Dora had her opportunity, and she painted Dan 
Hewlett and his household in no flattering colors. 
Molly was a slattern, and Dan was a thief, and the 
children ate up Judith’s dainties, and they all 
preyed upon her. It was a perfectly horrid life 
for a good, well-trained, high-principled person to 
lead. In fact, she poured out all the indignant 
accusations that she and Mary had been wont to 
make between themselves or to Edmund ; and she 
sent Caroline and Anne Barnard home greatly 
shocked at what she had told them of their dear 
Judy’s surroundings. 


AN OFFER REJECTED. 


157 


Mrs. Barnard came the next day and begged to 
hear Miss Carbonel’s account. Dora was a little 
more moderate than she had been to the young 
ladies ; but, anyway, it was sad enough, and Mrs. 
Barnard gave hopes that something should be 
done. All the family sent little presents of books 
or articles of dress, and Dora promised to write 
and let her know of their reception. 

It was one of the great pleasures of the return 
to spread them out before Judith, and to tell of 
her sight of the dear young ladies and their 
mother, and how tall, and what a fine girl little 
Miss Selina had become. But she did not seem 
quite so happy when she perceived that Dora had 
disclosed a good deal of her circumstances, and 
observed that her sister was always a good sister 
to her; which Dora took leave to doubt, espe- 
cially when she recognized Miss Barnard’s pretty 
gift of a blue turnover, all on one side, upon young 
Polly’s dirty shoulders. Dora waited and hoped 
and gave up hope and found fault with the Bar- 
nards before she heard anything; but at last she 
did. The Barnards’ old housekeeper, with whom 
Judith had lived, had married their head gardener. 
He had died, and she was settled in a cottage in 


58 


THE CARBONELS. 


the park, where she would be very happy to re- 
ceive Judith and make her comfortable. The 
place was only thirty miles off, and if she con- 
sented, Mrs. Barnard would pay a visit she had 
been asked to make to the Duchess, and take 
Judith back in the easy carriage, so as to spare 
her all fatigue. 

Dora and Sophy were in a state of transport, and 
wanted to rush off at once with the good news, 
but Mary withheld them. She thought it might 
be too much for so frail an invalid, and insisted on 
going with them and telling Judith herself. Nor 
would she go till after Sophy’s morning studies 
were over and they had had luncheon — which, 
by the by, was not an early dinner, but a slender 
meal of cold meat, cake, or bread and cheese, of 
which Edmund never partook at all. She devised 
this delay on purpose to wear down the excite- 
ment ; and Dora had begun to say how they should 
miss Judith, only it was all for her good. 

Molly was out, as the sisters hoped, tossing the 
meadow hay, and Judith sat alone by the fire. 
Mary told her very gently of the scheme, and she 
kept on saying “Thank you, ma’am,” while the 
tears came into her eyes. Mrs. Carbonel gave her 


AN OFFER REJECTED. 


159 


Mrs. Barnard’s letter to read ; but the tears came 
so thick and fast that she could not see it at first, 
nor, indeed, fully grasp the meaning, while two 
pairs of eyes were devouring her countenance as 
she read. Mrs. Carbonel guessed how it was, and 
saw that the transports which Dora and Sophy 
expected were not by any means near; so she 
gently said, “ We will leave you to read the letter, 
and come again to-morrow to hear what you think.” 

'‘Thank you, ma’am; thank you,” said poor 
Judith, as well as she could among her tears. 

“How stupid she is!” cried Sophy, as they 
emerged into the road. 

“ I don’t believe she could read Mrs. Barnard’s 
letter,” said Dora. 

“ No, not for tears,” said Mary. 

“ Do you think she could have understood 
you ? ” added Sophy. 

“ Oh yes; she understood well enough.” 

“ But how could she be so dull as not to be de- 
lighted?” said Sophy. 

“So ungrateful, too!” added Dora. 

“ My dear Dora ! It was the embarrassment of 
her gratitude that touched me so much,” exclaimed 
Mary. 


1 6o THE CARBONELS. 

“ Do you really think she will not be enchanted 
to get away from that dismal hole and live with 
honest people? ” asked Sophy. 

“ My dears, I think you have quite forgotten 
that Mrs. Dan Hewlett is her sister.” 

“ Nobody would think so,” said Dora. 

“ If she could only take Johnnie and Judy away 
with her,” said Sophy, before their father has 
spoiled them.” 

“You can’t think she would refuse such an 
offer! ” added Dora. “To be with a good, nice 
woman, and at peace among her friends. It really 
would be quite wicked in her to refuse.” 

Nevertheless Mary withstood all the entreaties 
of her sisters to go with her to hear Judith’s de- 
cision. Edmund heard them persuading her, and 
in his peremptory manner desired them to desist. 
So they hovered about the garden and home- 
field waiting for news. 

But the news was not what they expected. Mrs. 
Carbonel found Judith very tearful, but resolute. 

“ I could not do it, ma’am! I am sorry — sorry 
to the heart — to seem ungrateful for her kindness ; 
but, indeed, I could not do it. I cannot leave my 
sister and the children.” 


AN OFFER REJECTED. 


i6i 

“You would be so much more comfortable — so 
much better looked after.” 

“Yes, ma’am, I know that. Mrs. Gregg is one 
of the best of women, and so kind. It is very 
good of her to be willing to take me in; but — ” 

“You need not be afraid of the journey. Mrs. 
Barnard will come for you.” 

“ Oh yes, ma’am, I know ; but there’s my sis- 
ter, ma’am, and her children. I could not leave 
them.” 

“ I was afraid they did not know how to take 
care of you, and that your brother-in-law was 
rough with you.” 

“ My sister has been much better of late, since 
you have been here, ma’am ; and the poor children, 
ma’am, I can do something for them.” 

“ I see that John and Judy seem to respond to 
your care ; but is it right to give up all your com- 
fort and peace, and even your health, for so little 
as you are enabled to do for them ? It would be 
better if there were some appreciation of your care, 
or some attention paid — ” 

“ Molly is generally good to me — yes, she is, 
ma’am ; and poor little Johnnie, there ain’t nothing 
he would not do for me. I’m greatly obliged to 


162 


TH^ CARBONELS. 


Mrs. Barnard and the dear young ladies. 1 would 
dearly like to see them again; but Molly is my 
sister, and my sister is my sister, and I can’t feel 
it right to leave her.” 

“I honor you, Judith. It is a right feeling. 
But when they neglect you and prey upon you, 
can it be incumbent on you to give up all for their 
sakes ? ” 

“ I don’t know, ma’am ; but my poor sister she 
has a hard life, and I think her husband would be 
worse to her if I went away. I couldn’t have no 
comfort in thinking of them if I did.” 

“ Do they know of this ? Have they been per- 
suading you ? ” 

‘'No, ma’am; I did not say a word. Molly 
was out, and I wanted to think it out without be- 
ing worried and terrified.” 

‘‘Quite right, Judith. I am glad they do not 
know,” said Mary, who had learned that “ terri- 
fied ” did not mean frightened, but tormented. 
“ I can well believe you have decided in true unself- 
ishness and in the fear of God. But if you see rea- 
son to change your mind, let me know in the course 
of the week.” 

Dora and Sophy were really quite angry at 


AJ\r OFFER REJECTED. 


163 

Judith’s refusal — especially Dora, who had taken 
all the trouble of representing her condition to the 
Barnards. 

“ I should call it ungrateful,” she said, '' only I 
believe it is pure weakness and folly. Those 
people have been bullying her and tormenting her 
out of consenting.” 

“You are wrong, Dora,” said her sister; “they 
know nothing about it ! This is all her own 
doing.” 

“ And,” said Edmund, “ if you were older, 
Dora, you would know how to appreciate a very 
noble act of self-denial.” 

Dora did not at all like Edmund to talk of her 
being older ; but what he had said gave her some- 
thing to think about, and she began to reverence 
the feeling that made Judith Grey choose the 
rough and ungenial life with the Hewletts to com- 
fort and sympathy with her friends. 

Mrs. Carbonel and Judith were mistaken in 
thinking the transaction could pass unknown to 
the rest of the family. Polly was near at hand, 
but had hidden herself, on the lady’s approach, for 
fear of being called to account for not being at 
school ; and she reported to her mother that 


i64 


THE CARBONELS. 


Madam Gobbleall had been ever so long with 
aunt, a-trying to persuade her to go away and live 
with them fine folks as she was in service with.” 

Molly had a certain real affection for her sister; 
but to both her and Dan the removal would be 
like the loss of the goose that laid the golden eggs ; 
and there is no saying what poor Judith had to go 
through. Molly came and cried torrents of tears, 
taking it for granted that Judith meant to go and 
must be frightened out of it. It was of no use to 
declare that she had refused the lady. Molly was 
so much in the habit of semi-deception that she 
could not believe the assurance ; and to hear her 
lamentations over her dear sister, for whom no one 
could do like a blood-relation, and her horror at 
the idea of strangers being preferred to herself, 
one would have thought — as, indeed, she believed 
herself — that she was Judith’s most devoted and 
indefatigable nurse. And to think of them Gob- 
blealls being so sly, such snakes in the grass, as to 
try to get her away unknownst! She would not 
have them prying about her house again. 

Dan declared it was all the cunning of them, for 
fear Judith should become chargeable to the par- 
i.sh ; and there ! her fine friends would die or give 


dFFER REJECTED, 


i6s 

her up, or she would just be thrown on the parish 
and passed on to a strange workhouse, and then 
she would see what she got by leaving her kin. 
It was just like their sly tricks! 

In point of fact, if Judith had become chargeable 
to the parish, Dan’s remarks would have been 
equally true of Uphill, whence she would have 
been handed to the place where her father had 
lived ; and it was the object of every place to dis- 
pose of all superfluous paupers. But Dan and 
Molly wished her to imagine them willing to keep 
her freely in case of a failure of the supplies ! 

Poor thing! They really thought that their 
opposition had induced her to drop the idea, and 
that it was for their own ease or the good of the 
rates that the Carbon el ladies had tried to per- 
suade her to leave them. Molly did not forbid 
the ladies the house — there was too much to be 

A 

made out of the pickings from their presents; so 
Judith did not lose the cheerfulness and comfort 
they brought her; but Dan laid up the proposal 
in his mind as another cause of hatred and ill will 
to Captain Carbonel. 


CHAPTER XV. 


SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


Thou hast appointed justices of peace to call poor men before 
them for matters they were not able to answer. — Shakespeare. 


HEN the parable of the wheat and the 
tares was spoken the Blessed and only 
Wise foresaw the extreme difficulty of 
rooting out the tares without injuring the wheat, 
when the work is done by the ignorant or hasty 
hands of the servants. 

So it was at Uphill. Captain Carbonel was 
made a county magistrate, and thus had more 
power in his hands ; and his most earnest wish and 
prayer was to use it for the good of the parish. 
But things were very difficult. At the vestry the 
farmers agreed with him that Barton and Morris 
ought not to have additional parish relief — great 
strong men as they were, who had both refused 
extra hours of labor offered by farmers, of a kind 

i66 



SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


167 


they did not like, and now demanded help on the 
score of their large families. In fact, it had be- 
come the custom to demand relief for every fresh 
child that was born, and the men were often idle 
in consequence. There were men with many chil- 
dren who had never come on the parish, because 
they were trustworthy and sober, and their wives 
were thrifty. Each magistrate could point to 
several of these, and each knew how the small and 
struggling ratepayers were oppressed. Nor could 
it be fair that these men should be maintained in 
idleness or dawdling at the expense of the hard- 
working small shopkeepers. 

Every gentleman on the bench who had weakly 
yielded before, and had given an order to whoever 
tramped over to ask for it, was very glad to have 
some one who would speak out and take the bur- 
den of unpopularity. So the order was not given, 
and Barton and Morris walked home disappointed ; 
but not till they had each taken a pint or two of 
beer at the “ Blue Lion ” on their way home, 
uttering many curses on that there Gobbleall.” 
Captain Carbonel did not hear those same curses, 
but as he rode home he saw the two men stagger 
out of the “ Blue Lion,” refreshed not only by 


THE CARBONEL^. 


1 68 

their own pints, but by those of sympathizers. 
And the sight did not make him sorry for what he 
had done, knowing well that George Hewlett, Cox 
the cobbler, and Mrs. Holly, the widow with a 
small shop, were almost borne down with the rates, 
and not seeing why they should toil that Billy and 
Nanny Barton should lounge and drink. 

Billy Barton, however, did more. He joined an 
expedition which Dan Hewlett was already organ- 
izing with Joe Todd, as much for revenge as 
profit, to have a night of poaching in Mr. Selby’s 
woods, in which there were a number of fine 
pheasants — not so many as at present where pre- 
serves are strictly kept ; but poaching was more 
profitable in some ways, since in those days poul- 
terers were not allowed to sell game openly, but 
gave a higher price to men who could contrive to 
convey it to them, and then sold it at a great profit 
to pretentious people who had no friends to give 
it to them, but who wanted to show it at their 
dinner-parties. Tirzah Todd, as usual, was the 
means of disposing of most of these gains. Her 
lively ways made poulterers and servants inclined 
to further her dealings. 

She was a great deal too sharp to carry any 


SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


69 


save her lawful wares to Greenhow Farm; but in 
the last year since the Carbonels had come — 
especially since the captain had been a magistrate 
— the trade had been less prosperous and required 
more caution. Once Captain Carbonel had found 
a wire for a hare in his hedge, and had made it 
known that he should prosecute any one whom he 
caught out. He was no eager sportsman himself, 
but he had a respect for the law. 

The poachers arranged a raid upon the Selby 
woods, in which Joe Todd, Dan Hewlett, and Billy 
Barton all took part. The first of these was too 
sharp to be caught by the keepers. He had all 
the litheness and cunning of his gipsy blood, and 
was actually safe in the branches of a tree over- 
head, while Dan, having put his foot into a rabbit- 
hole, was seized by one keeper, with his gun and 
a bag of spoil, and Billy Barton, in his bewilder- 
ment, ran straight into the arms of another, with a 
pheasant’s tail poking up his short smock-frock as 
it stuck out of his pocket. 

Of course Mr. Selby could not commit for an 
offense against himself, so Hewlett and Barton 
were hauled off to Captain Carbonel; while their 
wives begged to see madam, and they were con- 


170 


THE CARBONELS. 


ducted to the veranda, for the justice business was 
going on in the large kitchen. No doubt they 
expected — though Nanny had read no novels — 
that the magistrate would sit enthroned in the 
most public place in the house, that the women 
would weep, that the ladies, with softened hearts, 
would throw themselves before him, like Queen 
Philippa at Calais, and beg off the victims. Of 
what could, should, or ought to be done they had 
no notion ; and of course they were both in terrible 
distress, Nanny crying passionately into her apron, 
and protesting, whenever she could get voice be- 
tween her sobs, that if the good lady would get 
the good gentleman to forgive him this time he 
would neyer, never do so no more ; while Molly 
Hewlett, who had some remnants of old respecta- 
bility about her, was trying her utmost to induce 
Mrs. Carbonel to intercede. 

It was the first time. He was led to it. It was 
for sport. He had never done it before. To be 
sure, madam would not let ’em be hard on poor 
Judith’s brother. No Hewlett — no, nor any Grey 
— had ever been in prison before! He was just 
drove to it, because that there George would give 
him no work I She and her poor children would 



PLEADING FOR MERCY FOR 7 HEIR 7! US BANDS. 


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SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


171 

have to come to the workhouse, and poor Judith! 
Nanny, too, began to cry out about her poor chil- 
dren and the parish. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Carbonel had been trying to 
get in a word to make them understand that the 
matter did not rest with the captain, and that he 
had no choice at all in the question but to commit 
them to jail to take their trial. He had no power 
to let them off, and she could do nothing, though 
she was sincerely sorry for the wives. But they 
neither heard nor tried to hear, and as the cart 
was driven up by Master Pucklechurch, the keeper, 
and the constable, Cox, to the back door for the 
handcuffed prisoners, weeping and wailing of the 
loudest arose, and the women darted round to 
embrace their husbands, evidently expecting Mrs. 
Carbonel to assure them that she would charge 
herself with the support of their families while 
they were in prison. 

She was so much distressed and so pitiful that 
she was just going to do something of the kind, 
but her husband’s gesture stopped her. Billy 
Barton howled more loudly than his wife, and, as 
he could not raise his hands to his face, presented 
a terrible spectacle, though the captain declared 


172 


THE CARBONELS. 


there were no tears to be seen. Dan stood grim, 
stolid, and impassive, and if he spoke at all it was 
in a muttered oath at the noise his wife was mak- 
ing. It was a great relief when the cart was 
driven off, followed by the two women. And Cap- 
tain Carbonel exclaimed : 

Poor creatures ! That Barton is a fool, but 
Mr. Dan is something worse.” 

” Oh, those poor women ! Why would you 
not let me speak, Edmund, and promise that they 
should not starve?” 

” The parish will take care of that, Mary ; you 
need not be afraid.” 

“ It sounds so hard-hearted,” s5.id Dora and 
Sophy to each other. 

But Edmund did not prevent, nor wish to pre- 
vent, their going to see Judith, nor taking with 
them much more solid food than she was in the 
habit of eating. Thick sandwiches and lumps of 
cold pudding were likewise conveyed to the Bar- 
ton children at school, so that probably they fared 
much better than was their usual habit. 

Judith said she was sorry that Dan should 
go for to do such a thing ; but she was less indig- 
nant than Dora expected, and she cried, though 


SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


73 


more quietly than her sister, when he was sen- 
tenced to three months’ imprisonment. It was to 
be said for Molly Hewlett that enough of her old 
training remained about her to keep her a sober 
woman; but Captain Carbonel saw Nanny Barton 
reeling out of the Blue Lion ” on the day of the 
conviction, much the worse for the treatings she 
had enjoyed by way of consolation. 

If George Hewlett had any strong feelings 
about his cousin’s disaster, he did not communicate 
them ; he went about his work just as usual, and 
whistled as much as ever. But he took Johnnie, 
who was only eleven years old, into his workshop, 
and gave him eighteenpence a week for doing 
what he could ; and he turned out handy, dili- 
gent, and trustworthy, so as to be fully worth the 
money, and thus to stay on when his father came 
out of prison. 

Dan was much the same man as when he went 
into jail, save that his hatred to Captain Carbonel 
had increased. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

LINCH-PINS. 


And leave them laughing, Ho! ho! ho! 

Robin Goodfellow. 


OTICE was sent from the bishop of the 
diocese that he was about to hold a 
Confirmation at Poppleby in six weeks’ 
time. This was matter of rejoicing to Mr. Har- 
ford, who had mourned over the very few com- 
municants. Before he came the Celebrations had 
been only three times a year, and were attended 
by most of the aged paupers. To the joy of the 
Carbonels the feast was monthly after his coming; 
but the first time the aged people were there, and 
all lingered, George Hewlett, the clerk, said, when 
the curate looked to him for information: 

“ The alms, sir. They be waiting for the money 
in the plate.” 



174 


LINCH-FINS. 


175 


Why, that is to be reserved for the sick and 
distressed.” 

“ Mr. Selby he always give it out to them, and 
so did Mr. Jones afore him, sir. They be all ex- 
pecting of it.” 

Mr. Harford thought that it might be best not 
to disappoint the old people suddenly, so he stood 
at the vestry door counting heads, and numbering 
among them two whom he had already been some- 
what startled to see present themselves, namely. 
Dame Spurrell, whom he had heard abusing her 
neighbor with a torrent of foul words, and who 
pretended to be a witch, and Tom Jarrold, whom 
Hewlett had described to him as the wickedest old 
chap in the parish. 

He took counsel with the churchwardens. 
Farmers Goodenough and Rawson, who both 
agreed that they were a bad lot, who didn’t de- 
serve nothing, but it helped to keep down the 
rates. Then he talked to Captain Carbonel, who, 
being a reverent man, was dismayed at what he 
heard. 

''Just paying the old souls for coming in no fit 
state,” he said. 

"Then you advise me to change the system?” 


176 


THE CARBONELS. 


''You have no other choice,” returned the 
soldier. “ Read out your standing orders, and 
preach, if you will, explaining the matter.” 

This Mr. Harford did ; but not by any means 
all the persons concerned were present, and he 
afterward went round among them explaining that 
though they were to be helped in any distress, and 
the alms would be kept for the purpose, it was 
profane to give them out as a sort of payment to 
those who partook. Old Radford, Widow Mole’s 
father, was the only person who seemed to enter 
into the scruples. 

Yes, sir,” he said, “ it went agin me to sim to 
be paid for coming to the Lord’s table ; and I 
wouldn’t ne’er ha’ done it, but a shilling is a shil- 
ling to my poor daughter, and when I could get to 
church it was hard on her to miss the chance.” 

The next Celebration was attended only by the 
Carbonels, old Mrs. Rawson, and Radford ; nor at 
the next ensuing Whitsuntide were the numbers 
much increased. In spite of all that Mr. Harford 
could preach, and say in private, the main body 
of the parishioners would not listen to the invita- 
tion. And the disaffected grumbled among them- 
selves that he kept the money for himself, and no 


LINCH-FINS. 


177 


one would never see the color of it. There really 
were only thirteen communicants in the parish 
when these had seceded ; and Mr. Harford looked 
to the Confirmation to bring more intelligent and 
devout worshipers, though the time for preparation 
was short. 

He found that most people had been confirmed 
at Minsterham Cathedral, and there were reminis- 
cences of great holidays, few and far between; 
and no difficulty was made as to the young people, 
up to twenty years old, being nominated for Con- 
firmation. There was some disappointment that 
it should be only at Poppleby, as furnishing so 
much less of a day’s pleasure ; and when it was 
found that Mr. Harford expected the candidates 
at regular classes and private lectures there were 
objections. Farm-lads could not be spared, maids 
in farm-houses still less. 

What should parson want to be always at 
’em?” said Mrs. Goodenough. ” Old Mr. Jones 
he never made no work with them.” 

However, she had two daughters to be con- 
firmed, and the reigning Lizzie ” was allowed to 
go as an escort to them. The elder lads, who 
were really grown men, would not come at all. 


178 


THE CARBONELS, 


and could never be found. They wouldn’t be 
catechiz — not they.” The Sunday scholars, male 
and female, came pretty well, but not in large 
numbers ; and the age fixed for Confirmation was 
fifteen, so that those who were fresh from teaching 
were not many. Sophia Carbonel was a candidate, 
and very much in earnest; but Mr. Harford pre- 
ferred giving her books to read and questions to 
answer in private, as with most of the others he 
had to begin at the very beginning. The Misses 
Goodenough knew almost nothing — far less than 
Susan Pucklechurch and Rachel Mole, who were 
the gems of the female class, as was Johnnie 
Hewlett of that of the youths. The brightest of 
these was, however, in some respects, Fred Allen, 
of the general shop. He had been at school at 
Downhill, and could really read and write better 
than Johnnie and far better than any one else; 
for the chief scholars only made what Betty 
Pucklechurch called “ a sad hackering job of un,” 
and most scarcely knew a letter, having forgotten 
whatever they might have learned at Dame Ver- 
don’s before they went out bird-starving. Fred 
Allen began by answering, when asked what was 
done in Confirmation, Taking all your godfather’s 


LINCH-PINS. 


79 


and godmother’s sins upon you, and becoming 
liable to be balloted for the militia! ” It was a 
startling view, but, as far as Mr. Harford could 
make out, it was shared by most of the candi- 
dates ; but then they had very little notion of 
what sin meant, as, if they had a general idea, it 
was plain that they did not seriously expect to 
suffer for their sponsors’ sins after Confirmation, or 
that the sponsors suffered for theirs previously. 

The curate taught, questioned, explained, and 
exhorted. Fred Allen knew little; but his wits 
were sharper, and he took in Mr. Harford’s instruc- 
tions more readily, and remembered them better, 
while apparently most of the other minds were, 
and remained, a blank. Only he could not refrain 
from causing horse-laughs outside and making 
grins at every opportunity. 

But, with much anxiety, and after many exhor- 
tations, Mr. Harford gave out his tickets. The 
girls were to be conveyed — the most of them — in 
the Greenhow wagon, driven by old Pucklechurch ; 
the boys to walk. Mr. Goodenough would drive 
his daughters ; and Sophia, in her white dress and 
cap (nobody wore a veil then), would be with her 
sisters and brother in the chariot with post-horses. 


i8o 


THE CARBONELS. 


Captain Carbonel and Mr. Harford went outside 
on the box. 

They had passed Downhill, and were getting 
on, as well as their horses could, through the 
muddy ground at the bottom, freshly stirred up 
by a previous wet day. Before them was a steep, 
short ascent, but at the bottom of this there was 
a sudden stop. The captain put his head in at the 
window and said, “ Only the cart — no harm,” and 
strode on, following Mr. Harford, while the ladies 
craned their heads out, and Dora, exclaiming “ An 
accident,” ran after him, and Mary only just with- 
held Sophy, in consideration of her white dress, 
on the post-boy’s assurance, with a scarcely sup- 
pressed grin, ^'No harm done, ma’am; only they 
lads.” 

For what the two gentlemen and the amused 
post-boy had seen was this : the squadron of boys 
had overtaken the cart full of girls, when, just as 
the wagon had come to the pitch of the hill, all 
the load of maidens were seen tumbling out at the 
back ; and as the horses of the chariot halted, the 
girls’ screams, mingled with the horse-laughter of 
the boys, were plainly to be heard. Only Susan 
Pucklechurch, sitting on the front seat with her 


LINCH-FINS. 


I8l 


father, remained in her place. The girls were 
giggling and helping one another up, nearly all 
unhurt, but some very angry ; and Bessy Lin wood 
was scolding violently, Pucklechurch likewise, in 
his most growling voice: “Ye young good-for- 
naughts! I’ll lay the cart- whip about your idle, 
mischievous backs;’’ while the party of boys were 
still laughing, and one voice was heard to shout, 
“ Rubbish shot here.’’ A peal of laughter followed, 
but was cut short by Bessy Linwood’s “ Here’s 
parson; you’ll catch it.’’ Then, at the top of her 
voice, “ Sir, ’tis them boys ! They’ve bin and 
pulled out the linch-pins and shot us all down into 
the mud! ’’ 

“Is this so?’’ said the captain, sternly, while 
silence came down on the party, except for the 
sobs of Jennie Hewlett, who had gone into a dirty 
pool, and whom Rachel Mole and Betsy Seddon 
were brushing down vigorously. 

“ Quite true, sir,’’ returned Pucklechurch. “They 
young dogs got behind and played the poor maids 
this trick.’’ 

“Who did?’’ demanded Mr. Harford. 

Bessy Linwood spoke up and said it was “ all 
on ’em,” but she saw Fred Allen at it. 


THE CARBONELS. 


182 

No doubt the fun of the thing had been too much 
for the boys, in their holiday mood of thoughtless- 
ness, and they stood looking sheepish ; but Mr. 
Harford was very stern and sharp with them. 

Lads, do you think that, if you could play 
such a trick, you can be in a fit state to take sol- 
emn vows upon you?” 

No one spoke up except Fred Allen. “We 
didn’t do ’em no harm,” he said. 

“No harm! To disturb all good thoughts in 
their minds and your own, and drive out all seri- 
ous impressions by this mischievous trick! Now, 
will any one come forward and say he is sorry? ” 

Mr. Harford waited, but no one stirred. He 
bade the girls get in again, and Pucklechurch 
drive them on. He waited again, but no one 
spoke. Indeed, Allen and another big youth were 
seen making for a gap in the hedge. 

“ Will no one say he is sorry for what was an idle 
trick, but very wrong when you ought to be thinking 
how you would be giving yourselves up to God? ” 

They stood like stocks, and Captain Carbonel 
said, “ Has no one the grace to regret a very im- 
proper and thoughtless action?” 

Still no one moved. 


LINCH-PINS. 


183 


Then,” said the clergyman, there is no choice 
left to me. It would be profanation to take per- 
sons in such a mood to make vows and kneel to 
receive God’s grace, which they evidently make 
light of. Whoever will not come and apologize 
must go home.” 

There was no movement among the white 
round-frocks. Boys are like sheep: what one 
does the others do, and few are to be found to 
stand alone. Mr. Harford looked anxiously at 
Johnnie Hewlett and one or two more, from whom 
he expected better things ; but they only looked 
down, with their hands in their pockets and sullen 
faces ; and Captain Carbonel held up his watch to 
show that they should all be too late. There was 
nothing to be done but to return to their seats and 
urge the post-boy to hurry on. 

The bells of Poppleby Church might ring mer- 
rily, but the heart of the curate was very heavy 
with the questions whether this misfortune could be 
owing to his not having impressed the lads enough 
while preparing them, or to his having been too 
hasty and peremptory in his indignation. 

Captain Carbonel said they werq such intolerable 
louts that to disappoint them was all the better. 


1 84 


THE CARBONELS. 


and they would know how to present themselves 
more seriously another time; but Mr. Harford 
much doubted whether they would ever present 
themselves again. 

“ It would just be mockery for them to make 
the vow,” said the captain. 

” Ah, they miss the grace,” said the curate. 

Harriet Allen was crying all through the time 
of the Confirmation when she perceived that her 
brother’s head was not among the boys. Indeed, 
the only male candidate from Uphill was Will 
Cox, who had gone with his cousins from Down- 
hill. Most of the boys were glad to have got off 
making the vow, for, in spite of all Mr. Harford’s 
teaching, there were some who still believed that 
they would take all their godparents’ sins upon 
them, or, at any rate, that they should feel more 
bound to take heed to their ways. 

Johnnie Hewlett, indeed, was sorry when he 
went home to his aunt, and had to tell her why 
he had not been confirmed after all. 

” O Johnnie, Johnnie, you didn’t go for to upset 
the maids?” 

” I ? No. I was at the bottom of the hill with 
Harry Coles.” 


LINCH-PINS, 


185 


''Then why couldn’t you have said so?” 

He hung his head and twisted his hands. 

"O Johnnie, what was it? Was it only the 
going along with the others ? ” 

Still he made no reply, but Judith saw in his 
face that this was the reason. 

" Oh, my boy ! To think that you did not feel 
that God’s blessing and grace were worth stand- 
ing out for against a lot of idle chaps; and now 
you won’t be able to take the Sacrament!” 

" Father never would let I,” returned the boy. 

" Oh, my dear, dear lad, don’t you know that you 
might have got strength, and would get strength, 
to stand up for yourself and do what you ought? 
Oh, dear 1 My hope is gone 1 ” she cried, bitterly ; 
and though Johnnie got away from the sight, her 
distress really found its way into his heart, while 
he said very little except, " There, there, auntie, 
never mind. Maybe I’ll try again next time.” 

'' You promise me, John Hewlett — even if I’m 
not here to see? ” 

"Yes, I promise, aunt,” said he, glad to have 
silenced her regrets, and hoping the fulfilment 
was a good way off. 

The parishioners, especially those who had only 


86 


THE CARBONELS. 


sons and not daughters, were very angry. They 
did not value Confirmation greatly, but that the 
curate, after “ making such a work with the poor 
lads as never was,” should have presumed to reject 
them made them furious. Mr. Allen even threat- 
ened to write to Dr. Fogram ; but as he did not 
know how to address a letter to what he called Ox- 
ford College,” he contented himself with walking 
off with his belongings to Downhill Church every 
Sunday — that is, when they went anywhere. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


PROGRESS OR NO PROGRESS. 

For some cry quick and some cry slow, 

But while the hills remain, 

Uphill, too slow, will need the whip, 

Downhill, too quick, the chain. 

Tennyson. 

EVERAL years had passed away, and 
“ Mary’s Approach ” had never been 
made, though the lane had been im- 
proved and worn a good deal smoother, and the 
Duchess and other grandees had found their way 
along it. 

There were other expenses and other interests. 
Dora was married. A fellow-soldier of Captain 
Carbonel’s had come on a visit and had carried 
the bright young sister off to Malta. She was a 
terrible loss to all the parish ; and it would have 
been worse if Sophia had not grown up to take 
her place and to be the great helper in the school 
187 



i88 


THE CARBONELS. 


and parish, as well as the story-teller and play- 
mate, the ever-ready “ Aunt Sophy,” of the little 
children. 

And these years had made the farm and garden 
look much prettier and neater altogether. The 
garden was full of flowers, and roses climbed up 
the veranda; and the home-field beyond looked 
quite park-like with iron railings between, so that 
the pretty, gentle Alderney cows could be plainly 
seen. 

The skim-milk afforded by those same cows 
went in great part to the delicate children in the 
village, though Mrs. Carbonel had every year to 
fight a battle for it with Master Pucklechurch and 
his wife, who considered the whole of it as the 
right of the calves and little pigs, and would 
hardly allow that the little human Bartons or 
Morrises were more worth rearing. 

There had been a visitation of measles through 
the village — very bad in the cottages, and at 
Greenhow the three little children had all been 
very ill ; the second, Dora, died, and the elder 
one, little Mary, remained exceedingly delicate, 
screaming herself ill on any alarm or agitation, 
and needing the most anxious care. 


PROGRESS OR NO PROGRESS. 189 

The cottagers had learned to look to Greenhow 
and the Gobblealls ” as the safe resource in time 
of any distress, whether of a child having eaten 
too many blackberries or of a man being helpless 
from “ rhumatiz ” ; a girl needing a recommenda- 
tion to a service ; or, “ Please, sir, I wants to know 
if it is allowed for a man to kill my father? ” which 
was the startling preface to George Truman’s com- 
plaint of a public-house row in which his father 
had got a black eye. 

Still, there was less fighting among the men and 
much less among the women, since Nanny Barton 
and Betsy Seddon had lodged counter-accusations 
after a great quarrel over the well, when Nanny 
had called Betsy, among other choice epithets, '' a 
sneaking, hypercriting old cat of a goody,” and 
Betsy had returned the compliment by terming 
Nanny ” a drunken, trapesing, good-for-nothing 
jade, as had no call to good water ” ; on which 
Nanny had torn out a large bunch of Betsy’s hair, 
and Betsy had used her claws to make long 
scratches on Nanny’s cheeks, the scars of which 
were cherished for the magistrates! It was ex- 
pected in the village that Betsy would get off, 
being that she and her husband worked for Cap- 


190 THE CARBONELS. 

tain Gobbleall, and Nanny was known, when “ a bit 
overtaken,” to have sauced Miss Sophy. Never- 
theless they were equally fined, with the choice 
of three weeks’ imprisonment ; and, to every one’s 
surprise, the fines were produced. 

Betsy thought it very hard that she should be 
fined when she worked in the captain’s fields ; and 
she lamented still more when he insisted on the 
family removing to a vacant cottage of his own 
between two of his fields. It was in better condi- 
tion, had more garden, and a lower rent ; and her 
husband, who was a quiet man, never quarreling 
unless she made him, much rejoiced. “ She have 
too much tongue,” he said. And she had to keep 
the peace, for the captain declared that, after the 
next uproar in his fields, he should give her no 
more work there. And though she declared it 
was not her, but “ they women who would not let 
her alone,” things certainly became much quieter. 

For Captain Carbonel was an active magistrate, 
busy in all the county improvements, and preserv- 
ing as much order in the two parishes as was pos- 
sible where there was no rural police, only the 
constable Cobbler Cox, who was said to be more 
skeered of the rogues than the rogues was of 


PROGRESS ' OR NO PROGRESS. 191 

he ’’ ; and at Downhill, Appleton the thatcher, 
who was generally to be found enjoying himself 
at the “ Selby Arms.” Still, fewer cases came up to 
the bench than in former times, and Uphill hardly 
furnished one conviction in a quarter. The doc- 
tors at the infirmary said that they knew an Uphill 
person by the tidier clothing. This was chiefly 
owing to the weekly club, of which the women 
were very glad. It is just as if it was given,” 
they said, when the clothes came in half-yearly ; 
and decent garments encouraged more attendance 
at church. There was no doubt that Uphill was 
more orderly, but who could tell what was the 
amount of real improvement in the people’s -hearts 
and souls? 

That first Confirmation had produced only two 
additional communicants, Sophia Carbonel and 
Susan Pucklechurch, who was in training in the 
Greenhow nursery. Not one of the others came to 
the Holy Feast. Their parents, for the most part, 
said they were too young; and as these parents 
never came themselves, the matter seemed hope- 
less unless some deeper religious feeling could be 
infused by diligent care. 

In one case, where there was a terrible illness 


192 


THE CARBONELS. 


and a slow recovery of George Truman, he became 
strongly impressed; and so did his wife, a very 
nice, meek woman, who had been in a good ser- 
vice. They both came to the Holy Communion 
the month after the man was out again, but he did 
not keep it up. “ Sir, if you knew what the talk 
was like out in the fields, you would not wish it,” 
he said; which gave Mr. Harford much to think 
about. 

The next Confirmation, three years later, col- 
lected nearly the same number of boys and girls ; 
and Mr. Harford walked with the boys himself, 
and sent Mrs. Thorpe with the girls, so that there 
was no such scandal as before. . The only lad who 
presented himself from among those rejected of the 
former year was Johnnie Hewlett. He was by 
this time older than any of the other candidates, 
and he had learned in a measure to stand alone, 
though it was chiefly his promise to his aunt that 
brought him now. He still worked with his cousin, 
George Hewlett, and was a good deal trusted, and 
made useful. His father had, however, drifted 
farther and farther away since George had abso- 
lutely refused to employ him again in his business. 

You never know where you are with such as 


Progress Or no progress. 193 

he,” said George, and with good reason; but Dan 
laid it all to ” they Gobblealls and their spite.” 
It was so far true that it was the depredations at 
Greenhow Farm that first convinced George that 
Dan was an absolute pilferer, though he had be- 
fore suspected it, and tried to shut his eyes to the 
doubt. Dan, being a really clever workman, far 
brighter-witted than George, had lived upon 
chance jobs at Downhill or Poppleby, together 
with a good deal of underhand poaching, which 
he kept as much as possible from the knowledge 
of his family, never being sure what Molly might 
not tell her sister, nor what Judith might disclose 
to the ladies. Polly had made a miserable mar- 
riage, and Betsy was in service at a public-house ; 
Jem was a big, idle lad, whom no one employed if 
it could be helped; Judy was still at home, and a 
comfort to her aunt. 

It was his aunt that chiefly induced John to 
live at home, though he could easily have lodged 
away and have been nearer to the workshop. His 
father had let him alone, and not interfered with 
his Sunday-school-going, as long as he was a 
mere boy, till this second time, when, at eighteen, 
and grown to man’s stature, he was going up as a 


i94 


THE CARBONELS. 


candidate with the younger ones. Then the father 
swore “ he was not going to have his son make a 
tomfool of hisself to please that there parson.” 

“ I have promised,” said John. 

“ Promised ? What — parson or ladies, or any 
sneaks that come meddling where no one wants 
’em?” 

’Twere not parson,” said John. 

“Then ’twas one of they Gobblealls ” — with an 
oath. “That ain’t of no account.” 

“ ’Tweren’t,” again said John. 

No more was to be got out of him than 
“ ’Tweren’t,” and “ I shall keep my word.” He 
was too big to be beaten — a tall, strong, well-made 
youth ; and Dan was obliged to let him alone, 'and 
only swear at him for turning his back on his old 
father, and being no better than a Methody. 

In point of fact, Molly and the two younger 
children were chiefly supported by John’s earnings 
and Judith’s pension; for whatever Dan earned at 
Downhill or picked up in his various fashions was 
pretty sure to be swallowed either by the “ Blue 
Lion” or by the “Fox and Hounds.” Judith 
was entirely in bed upstairs, and the kitchen had 
lost all the little semblance of smartness it once 


PROGRESS OR NO PROGRESS. 195 

had ; while Molly might have been taken for sixty 
years old instead of forty-five, though that was not 
unusual among the hard-working women, who got 
aged and dried up with weather in the fields and 
with toil and care at home — even when they had 
kindly, sober husbands. 

Judith’s room was a place of peace and order, 
so kept by the help of little Judy and of John, 
both of whom loved her heartily and felt as if she 
were a mother to them. She had brought home 
to them all the good that they knew. She had 
always made them say their prayers by her as 
children, and John continued to do so still, for 
old sake’s sake, if for no other reason.” They 
had always repeated to her what they had heard 
at school, and by and by the text and substance 
of the sermons as far as they could ; and she told 
them her own thoughts, freely and earnestly — 
thoughts that came partl}^ from the readings of 
Mrs. Carbonel and Mr. Harford with her, but far 
more than she knew from her own study of the 
Bible, backed by her earnest spiritual mind, which 
grew deeper and deeper as her earthly sufferings 
increased. Of course she had tried to do the same 
with her sister and the other children, but none of 


i 

1 96 }:arbonel&. 

them would endure it. Molly always had some- 
thing to do elsewhere, and said what was all very 
well for a sick woman like Judith could not be ex- 
pected in one who had such a lot of trouble that 
she did not know which way to look. 

Poor thing! Neither Judith nor Mr. Harford 
could persuade her that there was a way to look 
which would have lightened all these troubles! 
But John had learned how to stand alone, and he 
did so, not only by presenting himself for Confir- 
mation, but by becoming a Communicant. Not 
another lad did so ; but his cousin George and 
his wife had begun at last, under the influence of 
Mr. Harford’s sermons, and so had a few more in 
the parish. John, in his cousin’s workshop, was 
shielded from a good deal of the evil talk and 
jesting that went on among his fellows in the 
fields. He '‘took after” George in being grave 
and quiet, and he loved no company better than 
his invalid aunt’s ; but to be a steady and religious 
youth was a more difficult matter in those days 
than at present, for harmless outlets for youthful 
spirits had not been devised, and to avoid mischief 
it was almost needful to abstain from almost all 
the company and pleasures of a country lad. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE THRESHING-MACHINE. 

When lawless mobs insult the court, 

That man shall be my toast, 

If breaking windows be the sport. 

Who bravely breaks the most. 

COWPER. 

APTAIN CARBONEL had made his 
farming answer better than his friends, 
or still more the farmers, had predicted. 
He had gone to the markets and talked with the 
farmers, and not shown off any airs, though, as 
they said, he was a gentleman, so known by his 
honest, straightforward dealing. Nor had he been 
tempted to launch out into experiments and im- 
provements beyond what he could properly afford, 
though he kept everything in good order, and used 
new methods according to the soil of his farm. 

Master Pucklechurch growled at first, and fore- 
told that nothing would come of thicken a’ ” ; 

197 



THE CARBOHELS, 


198 

that the “ mangled weazel,” as he called the man- 
gel wurzel, would not grow; and that the cows 
would never eat '' that there red clover as they 
calls apollyon ” ; but when the mangel swelled 
into splendid crimson roots and the cows throve 
upon the bright fields of trifolium, he was as 
proud as any one, and he showed off the sleek 
sides of the kine and the big misshapen roots of 
the beet with the utmost satisfaction. 

Equal grumbling heralded the introduction of a 
threshing-machine, which Captain Carbonel pur- 
chased after long consideration. The beat of the 
flail on barn floors was a regular winter sound at 
Uphill, as in all the country round ; but to get all 
the corn threshed and winnowed by a curious re- 
volving fan with four canvas sails was a trouble- 
some affair, making farmers behindhand in coming 
to the market. And as soon as he could afford 
the venture the captain obtained a machine to be 
worked by horse-power; for steam had hardly 
been brought, as yet, into use even for sea-trafffc, 
and the first railway was only opened late in 1830, 
the time of the accession of William IV. 

The farm people, with old Pucklechurch at their 
head, looked at the operations of the machine with 


THE THRESHING-MACHINE. 199 

some distrust ; but this gradually became wonder 
and admiration on the part of the Greenhow 
laborers, for threshing with the flail was very hard 
work for the shoulders and back; and Captain 
Carbonel took care to find employment for the 
men in winter-time, so that his men did not join 
in the complaint of Barton and Morris that “ there 
wouldn’t be nothing for a poor chap to get his 
bread by in the winter.” In truth, the machine and 
its work were a perfect show to the neighborhood 
for the first harvest or two, when Seddon was to 
be seen sitting aloft enthroned over a mist of dust, 
driving the horse, that went round and round, 
turning the flails that beat out corn from the ears 
into the sheaves with which Pucklechurch and Tru- 
man fed the interior. 

All Greenhow was proud of its “ Mr. Machy,” 
as the little Mary called it, thinking, perhaps, that 
it was a wonderful live creature. 

The neighborhood remained quiet even when 
George IV. died, and there was much hope and 
rejoicing over the accession of his brother, who 
was reported to be the friend of the people, and 
to mean to make changes in their favor. Poor 
old George Hewlett was, however, much exercised 


200 


fkE cArboneU. 


on the first Sunday, when, in the prayers for the 
king, Mr. Harford inadvertently said George” 
instead of “ William ” ; and George Hewlett, the 
clerk, held it to be praying for the dead, which he 
supposed to be an act forbidden. 

There was, of course, an election for the new 
Parliament ; but it did not greatly affect Uphill, as 
nobody had any votes except Captain Carbonel, 
the farmers, and the landlord of the Fox and 
Hounds,” and the place was too far from Minster- 
ham for any one to share in the election news, 
except Dan Hewlett and Joe Todd, who tramped 
over thither to hear the speeches, swell the riot- 
ous multitude, and partake of all the beer to 
which both sides freely treated all comers. They 
came home full of news, and reported in the bar 
of the Fox and Hounds” that there were to be 
grand doings in this new Parliament; the people 
wasn’t going to stand it no longer, not if the right 
gentlemen got in ; but there would be an end of 
they machines as make horses do men’s work, and 
take the bread from their poor children. Beer 
would be ever so much cheaper, and every poor 
man would have a fat pig in his sty. That is, if 
Mr. Bramdean, as was the people’s friend, got in. 


THE THRESHING-MACHINE. 


201 


Why, he was the one as our Captain Gobble- 
all was agin,” observed Cox, who had come in to 
hear the news. 

‘'To be sure he was. Gobbleall is hand and 
glove with all the tyrums. Ha’n’t he got a 
machine?” said Dan, in an oracular manner. 

” No one will never tell me as how our captain 
ain’t a friend o’ the people,” returned Seddon. 
“ Don’t he get coals reasonable for us, and didn’t 
he head the petition for your pig, Jim, and draw 
it up, too ? ” 

“ Aye, but what right had he to say my missus 
shouldn’t take it out of the parish? ” said Jim Par- 
sons. “ We’d ’a’ made a couple of pounds more 
if she’d been free to go her rounds, as Betty Blake 
did.” 

“ Aye, that’s the way of ’em. They grudges us 
everything what they don’t give themselves,” said 
Dan, “ and little of that, too.” 

No one understood the spirit which desired to 
make people independent and raise them above in- 
discriminate beggary ; and Todd said, with a grim 
laugh, “ They would not see us make a little purse 
for ourselves — not if they can help it.” 

Seddon feebly said the ladies were free enough 


202 


THE CARBONELS. 


with their gifts. “ They had never had no one 
before to help the womenfolk and the children.” 

" Pig’s wash! Much good may it do ’em,” said 
Dan, so contemptuously that Seddon durst not 
utter another word in the general laugh, though 
he carried home a little can of milk every day, and 
he and others well knew the store that their wives 
set by the assistance of their little ones. 

They knew it well enough, though they were 
afraid to maintain the cause of the '' Gobblealls ” 
before such an orator as Dan ; and nothing worse 
than these grumblings took place all harvest-time, 
when whole families were fully employed, the 
men each taking a portion of the field, while their 
wives and children aided in the reaping and bind- 
ing, and earned sums among them which would pay 
the quarter’s rent, buy the pig, and provide huge 
boots for the father, if for no others of the family. 
The farmers provided substantial luncheons and 
suppers for the toilers in the field; and, when all 
was over, and the last load carried amid joyful 
shouts, there was a great harvest supper at each 
farm, where songs were sung, dances were danced, 
and there was often a most unlimited quantity of 
beer swallowed. 


THE THRESHING-MACHINE. 


203 


No one had then thought of harvest thanksgiv- 
ings; but at Greenhow there was as usual the 
farm supper, but with only ale enough for good 
and not for harm. The ladies came to hear the 
songs in the great farm kitchen, and the party had 
to break up at nine o’clock. The women, espe- 
cially Mrs. Mole, were glad; but the men, even 
the steady ones, did not like having only half an 
evening of it, and “ such a mean sup of beer.” It 
really was excellent strong beer, far better than 
the farmers’ brew, but that did not matter to the 
discontented, who, instead of letting themselves 
be taken home by their wives, adjourned to the 
“ Fox and Hounds,” and there sat over their pint 
cups, replenished from time to time, while they 
discussed the captain’s meanness, and listened to 
a dirty old newspaper, which told of the doings of 
Jack Swing, who was going about in Wiltshire 
raising mobs, threatening farmers and squires, and 
destroying machines. There was much excite- 
ment among the gentry about Reform, but appa- 
rently the poor cared not about it. 

To the Uphill mind Wiltshire was as strange and 
distant a country as Australia, and this made little 
impression; so that, as the days went on, every- 


204 


THE CARBONELS, 


body went to his usual work, and there was no 
alarm. 

“ Oh no,” said Mrs. Carbonel; “ the people here 
have far too much good sense to want to molest 
their best friends. They quite admire our thresh- 
ing-machine ; and see what a saving of labor it is ! ” 

However, it was thought right to raise a body of 
yeomanry for the defense of the country, in case 
the disaffection should become more serious; and 
the assistance of Captain Carbonel at the county 
town was urgently requested to organize the mem- 
bers of it. He left home for a few days without 
the least anxiety. And Mr. Harford, too, went 
on the Monday to attend a college meeting at 
Oxford, and would not return till he had visited 
his patient lady-love. The Selbys were away 
spending the autumn at Cheltenham. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A NIGHT JOURNEY. 

And he must post, without delay. 

Along the bridge and through the dale. 

And by the church and o’er the down. 

Wordsworth. 

OHN HEWLETT had finished his day’s 
work and come home in the dusk of an 
October evening. He found the house 
hung all over with the family linen, taken in to 
shelter from a shower, but not before it had be- 
come damp enough to need to be put by the 
fire before it could be ironed or folded. His 
mother was moaning over it, and there was no 
place to sit down. He did not wonder that Jem 
had taken his hunch of bread and gone away 
with it, nor that his father was not at home; but 
he took off his boots at the back door, as his aunt 
never liked his coming into her room in them — 
20 $ 



206 


THE CARBONELS. 


though they were nothing to what he would have 
worn had he worked in the fields — and then 
climbed up the stairs. 

Judith was sitting up in bed, with her tea-pot, 
tea-cup, and a piece of stale loaf laid out on a tray 
before her, and little Judy beside her, drinking out 
of a cracked mug. Judith’s eyes had a strange 
look of. fright in them, but there was an air of re- 
lief when she saw Johnnie. 

“ Well, aunt, is that all you have got for tea? ” 
Poor mother has been hindered ; but never 
mind that,” returned Judith, in a quick, agitated 
tone. “ Judy, my dear, drink up your tea and run 
down to help mother — there’s a dear.” 

“ You haven’t brought nothing, Johnnie? ” Judy 
lingered to ask. 

No, not I. I’ve worked too late to go to 
shop,” said Johnnie. 

“ Go down, my dear, as I told you,” said Judith, 
with a little unwonted tone of impatience, which 
made the youth certain that she had something 
important to tell him ; and as soon as the little 
girl began clumping down the stairs she held out 
her hand and said in the lowest of voices, Come 
near, Johnnie, that you may hear.” He came 


A NIGHT JOURNEY. 


207 


near. She put out her hand to pull him on his 
knees, so that his ear might be close to her, and 
whispered, ''Jack Swing is coming to Greenhow 
to-morrow.” 

"The captain away! How do you know?” 

" A man came and talked with your father in the 
back garden — just under this window. Mother 
had run up to shop for a bit of soap; but they 
thought she might come in any minute, and so 
went out at the back door, so that I heard them 
all the better.” 

"They never thought of that! Well?” 

" They mean to come on Greenhow, ask for 
money and arms, break up the machine, and burn 
the ricks if they don’t get what they want. Father 
said they might be sure of the Downhill men, and 
most of ’em here, for they all hate that there 
machine that is to starve poor folk in winter-time ; 
and those that were not of that way would be 
afraid to hold back, or they would show them the 
reason why.” 

" And the captain away ! It is enough to be 
the death of madam and the little ones.” 

" That’s just what I thought. O Johnnie dear, 
can’t you help to save them and hinder it?” 


208 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ Master wouldn’t go along with such doings/* 
said John. 

I wouldn’t answer for George. He’s a steady 
man, and would do no harm if he’s let alone ; but 
he’s a mortal fearsome one. No, Johnnie, there’s 
no help for it but that you should get over in time 
to fetch the captain, and let him take away the 
ladies, or stand up for them. He’ll know what to 
be at!” 

“But will it get father into trouble?” asked 
John. 

“ Not among so many. He’s sharp enough. 
The captain, if he were only at home, would see 
how to get them away. Anyway, think of the 
poor ladies and the little children!” 

John stood for a minute or two by the window 
thinking, while Judith sat up in her bed gazing 
at him with eager, anxious eyes ; and at last he 
turned back and would have spoken aloud but 
that she raised her hand to caution him. He 
knelt down again beside her, and said, “ No, aunt, 
I couldn’t rest to think of all those rough brutes of 
chaps from we don’t know where coming and play- 
ing their rigs, and bullying the ladies, with no one 
to help. There was a lady frightened to death 


A NIGHT JOURNEY, 


20g 


with them — master was reading it out in the paper. 
Yes, ril go and fetch the captain home to take care 
of them. Where is he?” 

“ Miss Sophy told me he was at the hotel at 
Minsterham with a lot of them. Have you ever 
been there, Johnnie?” 

Yes. Once I went with master in the cart when 
he wanted a bit of mahogany wood for Mrs. Good- 
enough’s chairs. It is a long way,” said Johnnie, 
looking wistfully at the darkening window, but 
I’ll do it, please God.” 

“ Yes. Please God, and He will help you. 
You’ve had your tea? No? Well, drink up this 
— it is cold enough — and take this hunch of bread. 
I am afraid there’s nothing better to be had. And 
here’s sixpence, in case you want a bit of food.” 

“ I’ve got ninepence of my own,” said John, 
feeling in his pocket ; and though most of his pay 
went to his mother for his washing and board, he 
always kept a little back every week. 

There, then, you’d best be off, my dear lad. 
Keep out of sight, you know, as long as you are 
in the village.” 

Johnnie bobbed his head; and his aunt threw 
her arms round his neck and kissed him as she had 


210 


THE CARBONELS, 


not done since he was in petticoats ; and then she 
murmured, “ God bless you, my darling lad, and 
take care of you.” 

Johnnie did not feel the prayer needless, for in 
spite of his eighteen years he had all a country 
lad’s dislike of being out alone in the dark ; and to 
this was added the sense that it was a time when 
evil-minded people might be about, who would 
certainly assault and stop him if they guessed his 
errand. To meet his father would make it cer- 
tain that he would be seized, abused, beaten, and 
turned back, with the reproach of being an un- 
natural son — turning against his father. Of this, 
however, there was little chance, as Dan Hewlett 
was pretty certain to be either in the “ Fox and 
Hounds ” or in the “ Blue Lion,” collecting par- 
tizans. And Johnnie got out through the back 
door, then by the untidy garden, and over the wall 
of the empty pigsty, out into a stubble-field. He 
was not afraid of his mother missing him till bed- 
time, as it was the wont of the youths, especially 
of those who had comfortless homes, to wander 
about in parties in the evening, bat-fowling some- 
times, but often in an aimless sort of way, doing 
little bits of mischief, and seeking diversion, which 


A NIGHT JOURNEY, 


21 I 


they seldom found, unless there was any solitary 
figure to be shouted at and startled. His father 
was not likely to come in till after he was turned 
out of the public-house ; so John strode, all unseen, 
across the field, and through the gateway into the 
next. He did think of the possibilities of bringing 
arrest and prosecution upon his father; but this 
did not greatly trouble him, for at this early period 
no regular measures of defense had been taken 
against the rioters; and as they went about dis- 
guised, and did not, as a rule, threaten life, they 
generally escaped scot-free. 

And the idea of a rude mob terrifying Mrs. 
Carbonel to death was terrible to him. Ever 
since the day when she had stood before him in 
the Sunday-school at the wash-house at Green- 
how, she had been his notion of all that was lovely 
and angelic in womanhood. She had said many 
a kind word to him over his work, and little Miss 
Mary had come and watched him with intense in- 
terest, eager chatter, and many questions when he 
was mending the gate. 

He was obliged to go down to the bridge at 
Downhill so as to cross the river; but there were 
lights in the houses, and a sound of singing in the 


212 


THE CARBONELS. 


“ Blue Lion/’ which made him get into the fields 
behind as soon as possible, though by this time it 
was quite dark, so that he had to guide himself as 
well as he could by the lights in the windows. 
This led to a great many wanderings and stum- 
bles, since he did not know every field with its 
gates and gaps as well as he knew Uphill, so that 
he lost a good deal of time by blundering about, 
looking for a lighter space in the hedge which 
might or might not lead into the next field. He 
made his way up to the opening.' It proved to be 
a gap 'hut lately mended, and he ran a couple of 
thorns deep into his hand before he tumbled over 
into a ditch. 

This was a grass- field, and he heard the cough- 
ings of an old sheep and the suppressed baaings of 
the others, finding himself presently outside their 
fold. He guided himself along by the hurdles 
and came to deep ruts in stiff clay, but these led 
to a gate, and that into a narrow and muddy lane. 
This, he knew, would bring him back to the high- 
road, and that was comparatively plain sailing. 

Still there was Poppleby to go through, though 
not for several miles, which he tramped along 
quietly enough, not meeting any one, but begin- 


A NIGHT JOURNEY. 


213 


ning to hear the sounds of the night-loving ani- 
mals. Owls flew about with their hootings and 
snappings, startling him a good deal, as much 
from some notions of bad luck as from wonder, at 
first, if it were a human shout. Then the lights of 
Poppleby were welcome to his eyes; and as they 
were chiefly in the upper windows, he thought the 
town must be safe to walk through without fear of 
being met and stopped. Gas-lamps hardly existed 
then, and Poppleby was all dark except for the big 
lamps over the public-house doors ; and this was 
well for Johnnie, for just as he was about to pass 
the Blue Lion ” the door was thrown open and a 
whole party came swaggering and staggering out, 
singing at the tops of their voices. Johnnie had 
time to throw himself into a garden behind a hedge, 
and heard them pass by, holloing rather than sing- 
ing out : 

“ Down, down with they machines 
That takes the poor folks’ bread.” 

There was something, too, about Friends to the 
people, and foes beware ” ; but what startled 
Johnnie the most was that he knew his father’s 
voice in the shout, and for one moment saw the 


214 


THE CARBONELS. 


light of a lantern fall across a face that could be- 
long to no one else but his father. It could 
hardly be told whether, as he lay trembling there, 
the sight made him the more dislike his expedi- 
tion, or the sound of those cries the more anxious 
to bring protection to his friends at Greenhow. 
Anyway, he had given his word to his aunt, and 
he must go through with it; and he fancied that 
he could get to Minsterham before the keepers of 
late hours were shut up for the night, and might 
return again to see how things were going, and 
get excused by his cousin. 

Not till the shouts had died away in the distance 
did he venture out, and plodded once more into 
the darkness, under overhanging trees, meeting 
nothing except one carriage, whose bright lamps 
came on like two fiery eyes, glowing more and 
more as they came nearer, and the black shadow 
of horses, driver, and closed carriage rushed by 
and left him again, deciding that it must be the 
doctor’s chariot. Then came another long, long 
spell — so long that he thought it must be near 
morning, and was surprised to hear behind him in 
the frosty air the church clock at Poppleby strik- 
ing far too many strokes, and what he hoped had 


A NIGHT JOURNEY. 


215 


been one turned into either eleven or twelve. He 
hoped it was twelve. 

There were the branching roads, and it was far 
too dark to read the sign-post, so that he could 
only take the one that seemed to him the most 
likely ; but when he had gone what might be any 
distance on the road, it seemed to get narrower 
and rougher than he expected, and then came an 
opening as if on to a common, such as he was sure 
did not exist on the way to Minsterham. He 
must have got upon the Elchester road, and there 
was nothing for it but to turn back. However, 
there was a pale brightness showing in the sky, 
and the moon came up, an old moon without very 
much light in her ; but she was a great comfort to 
him, and told him how the night was going. 

On and on, and then there was a sound of 
trampling of horses and of wheels coming nearer, 
great light eyes growing larger and larger, and the 
mail-coach flashed and thundered by with the 
four horses; and presently, far away, he could 
hear the guard’s horn announcing the approach 
to a wayside inn where the horses were changed. 
But by the time Johnnie had made his weary 
way up to the place it was far away on the road ; 


2I6 


THE CARBONELS. 


indeed, he saw the lamps flash as it went up 
Wearyfoot Hill, but all the inn was silent again by 
that time, even at the stables, and the hotel was a 
dark mass against the sky, the only light in it the 
moon reflected from the windows. A dog barked 
as he went past, but he kept far upon the other 
side of the road and was reassured by hearing the 
rattling of a chain. 

Wearyfoot Hill! Yes, it was Wearyfoot to him 
as he dragged up it. He could not remember 
whether it was four or five miles from Minsterham. 
There was a milestone standing on the bank, 
and he tried to read it; but the moon would not 
reveal more than the large initial letters of L for 
London and M for Minsterham, and he sat down 
at last and leaned against the stone, trying to trace 
out the figure above Minsterham with his fingers. 

Behold, though four and five were both ringing 
in his head, he must have fallen asleep, for he felt 
quite cold and stiff ; the moon was much higher in 
the sky, the stars were paler, and there was a mist 
all round. He rose up, ashamed, and shook him- 
self, colder and more uncomfortable than before, 
but feeling it was a new day, and that, were it 
four miles or five, he was now near Minsterham. 


A NIGHT JOURNEY. 


217 


He said his morning prayers as he tramped along, 
stamping to warm his feet, and recollected that 
Aunt Judith would be lying awake praying for 
him. He found that when the first discomfort of 
awakening had passed off he really was the better 
for his short sleep, and marched on more vigor- 
ously, presently hearing a cock begin to crow and 
birds to twitter. Dawn was beginning ; presently 
a lark sprang up and began to send down a won- 
derful, cheerful song, that quite raised Johnnie’s 
spirits ; then over the quiet, misty fields came the 
deep note of the great Minsterham clock pealing 
out what was only a half-hour, but John knew that 
it would be much louder in his ears next time it 
spoke. 

A wagon lumbered by, and then a laborer or 
two going to their work, but John kept out of 
their way, not wanting to be asked questions. 
There began to be red in the eastern mist, the 
clock sounded again, and from the slope of the 
hill the spires of the churches in the town seemed 
to be rising out of a great lake of woolly mist. 
The clock went through all the four quarters, then 
solemnly told out five strokes. Johnnie’s weary 
night-journey was over. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE ROYAL HOTEL. 


O haste to aid, ere aid be vain. 

Scott. 


Johnnie’s journey was over, 
his troubles were not at an end. 
When he came to the first houses 
the way seemed still to lengthen out before him, 
and everything appeared to be still asleep, though 
the daylight was coming in as brightly as a 
foggy morning allowed. Nor did he know his 
way; he had only driven to a timber-yard once 
with his cousin, and dined with him at a little pub- 
lic-house close by, and had no more than a dim 
recollection of shops, which looked quite different 
now, with all their shutters up. Only a milk-cart, 
coming in with full tins, seemed to give a sign 
that people would want their breakfast sometime 
218 





'D'YE UANT TO BESPEAK THE BEST AFARTMEMS?' p. 219 





THE EOYAL HOTEL, 


219 


or Other; and next appeared a very black sweep 
with his cart, and two miserable little bare-footed 
boys running beside it, as black as the silhouette 
over Mrs. Thorpe’s chimney. 

Half-past five struck, and charwomen began to 
come out of side alleys, bakers’ shops to take 
down their shutters. Johnnie ventured to ask 
one of the apprentice boys doing so the way to 
the Royal George Hotel. 

“D’ye want to bespeak the best apartments?” 
was all the answer he got, as the lad stopped his 
whistling and looked superciliously at Johnnie’s 
battered, dusty working-dress and old straw hat. 

He found he should only be laughed at, and 
walked on, renewing his question when he saw a 
good-natured-looking woman in a black bonnet 
and stout canvas apron, apparently going out for 
a day’s washing. 

“ Is it the Royal or the King George Tavern as 
you mean, my son?” she asked him. 

“ Oh, the Royal — the one where the gentlemen 
goes,” said Johnnie. “ I’ve got a message for one 
of ’em.” 

“ Bless you, my lad, they won’t never let you 
in at this time of morning,” said the woman. 


220 


THE CARBONELS. 


It’s very particular,” returned John. '' I came 
off at night to tell him.” 

She looked at him curiously. “ And what 
might it be, young man? Some one taken very 
bad, no doubt.” 

No — not that,” said John; and she looked so 
kind he could not help telling. “ But he have got 
a machine, and Jack Swing is coming, and if he 
don’t come home to see to the poor ladies — ” 

Bless me, and who may it be? ” 

'' Captain Carbonel — out at Uphill.” 

Never heard tell of the place.” 

It’s out beyond Poppleby.” 

“My! And you’ve corned all that way to- 
night?” 

“ The ladies are very good. He’s a right 
good gentleman. All one to the poor as to the 
rich.” 

“I say! You are a good young man, to be 
sure! I’d go with you and get to the speech of 
Lavinia Bull, the chambermaid, what I know right 
well ; but if I’m not at Mrs. Hurd’s by six o’clock 
she’ll be flying at me like a wildcat. Mercy on 
me, there it goes six! Well, if that fine dandy. 
Boots, as is puffed up like a peacock, won’t heed 


THE ROYAL HOTEL. 


221 


you, ask for Lavinia Bull, and say Mrs. Callendar 
sent you, and he will call her fast enough.” 

John thanked her and was going off at once, 
but she called out, “ Bless the boy, he’s off with- 
out even hearing where to go! Just opposite the 
City Cross, as they calls it.” 

It was not much like a cross to Johnnie’s mind, 
being' a sort of tower, all arches and pinnacles and 
moldered statues, getting smaller up to the spir- 
ing top ; but he knew it, and saw the hotel oppo- 
site with all its blinds down, nothing like astir yet, 
except that some one was about under the great 
open doorway leading into a yard, half entrance 
to the hotel. 

He could see a man brushing a shoe, and went 
up with, “Please, sir — ” But he was met by, 
“ Get off, you young vagabond! we want none of 
your sort here.” 

“Please, sir, I have a message for Miss Bull.” 
He hesitated. 

“ She ain’t down. Get off, I say. We don’t 
have no idle lads here.” 

“ It’s very particular — from Mrs. Callendar.” 

“ Old witch ! Have she been burning any one’s 
shirt fronts? I say, Jem, you see if Lavinia is in 


222 


THE CARBONELS. 


the kitchen, and tell her old Callendar has been 
burning holes in her stockings or collars, and has 
sent a young scarecrow to tell her.” 

John opened his mouth to say it was no such 
thing; but the under-shoeblack, who was a sort 
of slave to Boots, made an ugly face at him, and 
was gone, turning coach-wheels across the yard. 
In another minute Lavinia, a nice brisk-looking 
young woman, had come up with, ‘'Well, young 
man, what has Mrs. Callendar been after now?” 

“Please, ma’am, nothing; but she said as how 
I was to ask for you. It’s for Captain Carbonel, 
ma’am, a message from Uphill — that’s his home.” 

“ Captain Carbonel — that’s Number Seven,” she 
said, consulting a slate that hung near the bar. 
“He was to be called at eight o’clock. Won’t 
that do ? ” 

“ Oh no, no, ma’am,” implored John, thinking 
that the captain was taking his rest away from 
home. “ It’s very particular, and I have come all 
night with it.” 

“You have got to call Number Five for the 
High Flier at half-past six,” she said, turning to 
Boots. “ Could not you take up word at the 
same time? ” 


THE ROYAL HOTEL. 


223 


“ Catch me running errands for a jackanapes 
like that,” said Boots, with a contemptuous shrug, 
turning away and brushing at his shoe. 

“ Never mind him,” said good-natured Lavinia. 
“ What shall I say, young man? ” 

“ Oh, thank you, miss. Say that John Hewlett 
have brought him a message from Uphill.” 

Jack Owlet! Oh my! Hoo ! hoo !” exclaimed 
the blacking-boy as soon as Lavinia had disap- 
peared up the stairs, dancing about with his hands 
on his hips. ‘‘ Look here, Tom ” — to a boy with a 
pail, who had just come in — here be an Owlet’s 
just flown in out of the mud. Hoo! hoo! Where 
did you get that ’ere patch on your back?” 

“Where you never got none,” responded the 
other boy. “ Mother stitched it for him.” 

“ Aye, sitting under a hedge, with her pot hung 
up on three sticks and a hedgepig in it,” added the 
younger Boots. “ Come, own up, young gipsy ! 
Yer come to get a tanner out of Number Seven 
with your tales.” 

“ I’m no gipsy,” growled John ; “ but — ” 

“ Come, come,” called out Boots, “ none of your 
row. And you, you impudent tramp, don’t ye be 
larking about here, making the lads idle. Get 


224 


THE CARBONELS. 


out of the yard with ye or I call the master to 
you.” 

The landlord might probably have been far 
more civil; but poor Johnnie did not know this, 
and could only move off to the entrance of the 
court, so that when Lavinia, in another moment, 
appeared and asked where he was. Boots answered : 

“How should I tell? He was up to mischief 
with the boys, and I bade him be off.” 

“ Well, Number Seven is ever so much put 
about, and he said he would be down in a jiffy! 
So there!” 

Lavinia held up her skirts and began in her 
white stockings to pick her way across the yard, 
while Boots sneered, and began brushing his shoe 
and whistling as if quite undisturbed; and in an- 
other moment Captain Carbonel did appear, com- 
ing down the stairs very fast, all unshaven, and 
with a few clothes hastily thrown on, and quite 
ran after Lavinia, passing her as she pointed out 
beyond the entrance, where John was disconso- 
lately leaning against the wall with his hands in his 
pockets, feeling how utterly weary and hungry he 
was, and with uneasy thoughts about his father 
coming over him. 


THE r'oVal Motel 225 

Oh, there you are, John Hewlett! What is 
it? No one ill?” exclaimed the captain. 

“No, sir; but” — coming nearer and lowering 
his voice — “Jack Swing, sir.” 

“Jack Swing! We had notice of him out at 
Delafield.” 

John shook his head, and looked down. 

“ What ! Do you know anything, my boy ? 
Here, come in — tell me!” 

“ Please, sir, they’ve laid it out to come to 
Greenhow this very day as is, to- break the ma- 
chine and get the guns and money.” 

The captain started, as well he might; but still 
demanded, “ How do you know?” 

John held his head down, most unwilling to 
answer. 

“ Look here, my lad, you’ve done well coming 
to warn me; but I must be certain of your news 
before acting on it. We were to ride off to Dela- 
field to-day, and I must know if this is only a 
rumor.” 

“ Aunt heard them,” said John, between his 
teeth. “ She heard them planning it for to-mor- 
row — that’s to-day — and she laid it on me to let 
you know, to save the ladies from being frought.” 


226 


THE CARB'ONkL^, 


Your aunt heard it?” 

Through the window in the back garden. 
They planned to get all the chaps at Downhill 
and all, and go at the machine.” 

“The villains! Who did? No, I’ll not ask 
that, my lad,” said the captain, knowing only too 
well who it must have been. “You have acted 
nobly, and I am forever obliged to you. Come in 
and have some breakfast, while I dress and report 
this, and see what is to be done. You are sure 
there is time? ” 

“ They was to go about at dinner-time to get 
the folks,” John squeezed out of his mouth, much 
against his will. 

“ Then there’s time. Thank you with all my 
heart, John! I’ll see you again. Here” — to a 
barmaid who had appeared on the scene — “ give 
this young man a hearty good breakfast and a 
cup of ale, will you? — and I’ll be down again 
presently. Stay till I come, Hewlett, and I’ll 
see you again, and how you are to get home. 
Why, it is twenty miles! Were you walking all 
night? ” 

“ Only I went to sleep a bit of the time when I 
was trying to make out the milestone. I don’t 


THE ROYAL HOTEL. 


227 


rightly know how long it was,” said John, so much 
ashamed of his nap that the captain laughed, and 
said : 

“ Never mind, Johnnie, you are here in the very 
nick of time. Eat your breakfast, and I’ll see you 
again.” 

The good-natured barmaid let John have a 
wash at the pump with a bit of yellow soap and 
the round-towel, and he was able to eat his break- 
fast with a will — a corner of cold pie and a glass 
of strong ale, such a breakfast as he had never 
seen, though it was only the leavings of yester- 
day’s luncheon. Everybody was too busy just 
then to pay him any attention, and he had time to 
hear all the noises and bells seem to run into one 
dull sound, and to be nodding in his chair, before 
he was called by a waiter with : 

Ha, youngster, there, look alive ! the gentle- 
men wants you.” 

Now that sleep had once begun upon him, as- 
sisted by the ale, John looked some degrees less 
alive, though far more respectable, than on his 
first arrival. He was ushered into the coffee-room, 
where three or four gentlemen sat at one table, 
all in blue and silver, with the captain ; and as he 


228 


THE CARBONELS. 


pulled his forelock and bobbed his head, the elder 
of them, a dignified-looking man with gray hair 
and whiskers and a silver-laced uniform, said : 

“ So, my lad, you are come to warn Captain 
Carbonel of an intended attack on his propert5^?” 

“Yes, sir,” John mumbled, looking more and 
more of a lout; for he had thought the captain 
would just go home alone to defend his wife 
and his machine, and was dismayed at finding the 
matter taken up in this way, dreading lest he 
should have brought every one into trouble and 
be viewed as an informer. 

“ What evidence have you of such intentions? ” 

John looked into his hat and shuffled on his feet ; 
and Captain Carbonel, who knew that Sir Harry 
Hartman, the old gentleman, was persuaded that 
Delafield was the place to protect, was in an 
agony lest John should be too awkward and too 
anxious to shield his family to convince him. He 
ventured to translate the words into “ How do 
you know? ” 

His voice somehow made John feel that he 
must speak, and he said, “ Aunt heard it.” 

“What’s that? Who is aunt?” said Sir Harry, 
in a tone as if deciding that it was gossip ; but this 


THiL kOVAL HOTEL 22 $ 

put John rather more on his mettle, and he said, 
“ My aunt, Judith Grey, sir.” 

“ How did she hear? ” 

Through the window. She heard them lay- 
ing it out.” 

“ She is bedridden,” put in the captain; but a 
clever, sensible woman.” 

“ Whom did she hear or see? ” 

“ She couldn’t see nobody, sir. It was a strange 
voice.” John was trying to save the truth. 

Oh! And what did she hear?” 

They was planning to go round the place and 
call up the men — that’s to-day,” said John. 

“ Are you sure it was to-day ? Did she tell 
you she heard it? ” 

”Yes, sir. And” — John bethought him — 
“ there was a great row going on at the ‘ Fox 
and Hounds,’ and when I came past Poppleby a 
whole lot of them come out singing, ‘ Down with 
the machines.’ ” 

” That’s more like it, if it was not a mere drunken 
uproar,” said Sir Harry. 

” I suppose you did not know any of the 
voices? ” said one of the other gentlemen. 

John could hold his tongue this time. 


230 


THE CARBONELS, 


“ And you came all this way by night, twenty 
miles and odd, to warn Captain Carbonel, on your 
aunt’s information? ” said Sir Harry, thoughtfully. 
“ Are you sure that she could hear distinctly ? ” 

“ One can hear in her room talk in our garden 
as well as if it was in the room,” replied John. 

‘"Well, you are a good lad, well intentioned,” 
said Sir Harry. Here’s half a crown to pay 
your journey back. We will consider what is to 
be done.” 

John had rather not have taken the half-crown, 
but he did not know how to say so, so he pulled 
his forelock and accepted it. 

Captain Carbonel came out of the coffee-room 
with him, and called to the hostler to let him lie 
down and rest for a couple of hours, until the Red 
Rover would change horses there, and then call 
him, and paid for his journey back to Poppleby. 

So John lay down on clean straw and slept, too 
much tired out to put thoughts together, and 
unaware of the discussion among the gentlemen. 
For Sir Harry Hartman was persuaded that it was 
Delafield that needed protection, and was inclined 
to make little of John Hewlett’s warning, thinking 
that it rested on the authority of a sick, nervous 


"THE ROYAL HOTEL. 


^31 


woman, and that there was no distinct evidence 
but that of the young man who would not speak 
out, and only went by hearsay. 

Captain Carbonel, who was, of course, in an 
agony to get home and defend his property, but 
was firmly bound by his notions of discipline, 
argued that the lad was the son of the most disaf- 
fected man in the parish, and that his silence was 
testimony to the likelihood that his father was con- 
sulting with the ringleader. The invalid woman 
he knew to be sensible and prudent, and most 
unlikely either to mistake what she heard or to 
send her nephew on such a night journey without 
urgent cause; and he asked permission to go him- 
self, if the troops were wanted elsewhere, to de- 
fend his home. Finally, just as the debate was 
warming between the officers, a farmer came in 
from Delafield, and assured them that all was 
quiet there. So the horses were brought out, 
and there was much jingling of equipments, and 
Johnnie awoke with a start of dismay. He had 
never thought of such doings. He had only 
thought of Captain Carbonel’s riding home — 
never of bringing down what seemed to him a 
whole army on his father. 


CHAPTER XXL 


JACK SWING. 

Richard of England, thou hast slain Jack Straw, 

But thou hast left unquenched the vital spark 
That set Jack Straw on fire. 

Sir H. Taylor. 

OBODY knew who Jack Swing was. 
Most likely he really was more than 
one person, or rather an impersonal 
being, worked up as a sort of shadowy puppet to 
act in the cause of future Reform. 

There were hot spirits abroad who knew that 
much was amiss on many points, and who burned 
to set them right ; and there were others who were 
simply envious and jealous of all that had power 
or authority, and wanted to put these down for 
their own profit. They thought that the way to 
get their cause attended to was to make the other 
party afraid of the people ; and they did not know 
or understand that those who delayed to grant 
232 



JACK SWING. 


233 


their wishes desired only patience, and to do the 
work in the best and wisest way. All that they 
demanded, and more too, has since been given to 
the people, but gradually, as was expedient, and 
without tumult or disturbance. 

So there was a desire to frighten the gentry by 
showing the strength of the people, in anticipation 
of the Reform Bill to be proposed the next year. 
It would not have made much difference to the 
country people, for no one would have a vote 
whose rent did not amount to ten pounds a year ; 
and they would not have cared much about it if 
they had not been told that if it was passed every 
man would have a fat pig in his sty, and be able to 
drink his daily quart of beer; moreover, that the 
noblemen and gentlemen were resolved on keep- 
ing them out of their rights, making bread dear, 
and depriving them of their wages by setting up 
machines to do all the work. 

This last came near home, and stirred up the 
minds that would have cared for little else. Just 
as, four hundred years before. Jack Straw was 
an imaginary champion whose name inflamed the 
people to rise, so now Jack Swing, or whoever it 
was who acted in that name, sent messages round 


234 


THE CARBONELS. 


that such and such a place should be attacked at 
such and such a time. 

There was always some one in the town who 
could be fired with the idea that inciting riot and 
revolt was patriotism, and that a good cause could 
be served by evil methods, who cast aside such 
warnings as “ Rebellion is like the sin of witch- 
craft,” or ‘'The powers that be are ordained of 
God.” Besides, the infection spread, and to hear 
what Jack Swing was doing elsewhere encouraged 
others not to be behindhand with their neighbors. 

So the mandate had gone out, and there were a 
few at Elchester ready to arrange for a rising at 
Uphill and Downhill. Dan Hewlett was known 
to them in the public-house, and he had an espe- 
cial spite at Captain Carbonel, beginning from his 
knowledge of the tacit detection of his abstraction 
of the paper at Greenhow, going through his dis- 
missal from working there, aggravated by the en- 
deavor to remove Judith, embittered by the con- 
victions as a poacher, and, perhaps, brought to a 
height by the influence over his eldest son. He 
hated the captain enough to be willing to direct 
the attack upon Greenhow, especially as it was 
known that the master was absent and engaged in 


JACK SWING, 


235 


summoning the yeomanry “ to ride down the poor 
chaps,” as it was said, “ who only wanted bread 
for their children’s mouths.” 

There were men both at Uphill and Downhill, 
and even at Poppleby, who were quite willing to 
listen. The Poppleby folk — some of them — be- 
lieved that riot was the only way to get reform ; 
more of the villagers thought it was the only way 
of getting rid of the machines, the object of mys- 
terious dread for the future; and more still — 
chiefly ne’er-do-wells and great idle lads — were 
ready for any mischief that might be going, and 
full of curiosity and delight at what Jack Swing 
might be about to do. 

These youths — some of them at work and some 
not — dispersed the news through the village and 
fields that there was to be a great rising of the 
people’s friends, and that Gobbleall’s ” machine 
was to be somewhere. All were to meet at the 
randygo — supposed to mean rendezvous — at the 
cross-road ; and as for those who did not, it would 
be the worse for them, and worse than all for them 
that told clacking women who might carry the 
tale up to Greenhow. 

The summons was, indeed, not given till the men 


236 


THE CARBONELS, 


were well out of reach of their clacking women, 
but at work in the fields ; and then a party began, 
not to march — they could not have done that to 
save their lives — but to tramp out of Poppleby, 
shouting to any one whom they saw in the fields 
to come with them and stand up for the people’s 
rights. At Downhill their numbers increased by 
all the noisy fellows, and some who fancied great 
good was to be gained somehow, though some 
wiser wives called out to them not to get into a 
row, nor let themselves be drawn into what they 
would be sorry for. At the '' Fox and Hounds ” 
they tarried and demanded a glass of beer all 
round, which Mr. Oldfellow was really afraid to 
refuse. He was a timid man, half on their side, 
half on that of the gentry, and he saw there were 
enough of them to sack his cellars if he demurred. 

There, too, amid much laughter, they all dis- 
guised themselves, some blackening their faces with 
soot, others whitening them with chalk, and some 
putting on the women’s cloaks, bonnets, or aprons. 

Then they collected Uphill men. 

“ We are come for your good,” said Jack Swing, 
or the man who passed for him, wearing a long 
Punch-like nose. ” We are come to help you ; and 


JACK SAVING. 


237 


where’s the mean coward that won’t come along 
with us in his own cause? There will be no liv- 
ing for poor folks if those new-fangled machines 
be allowed to go on, and them Parliament folk 
vote out all that makes for the people. Down 
with them, I say! Up with Reform and down 
with all the fools and cowards who won’t stand up 
for themselves.” 

All this, garnished with foul words and abuse, 
and roared out from the top of the horse-block, 
was addressed to the crowd that began to gather. 

Dan Hewlett, with a horrid white face, was 
going about persuading the men, and so were 
others : “ Bless you, we don’t want to do no harm 
to the ladies nor the children. We only wants to 
do away with them toady machines, as they wants 
to do all the work instead of men’s hands, as the 
Almighty meant, and is in Scripture.” 

This was the plea to the better disposed, like 
Tom Seddon, who held out: You’ll not hurt 
madam nor the little ones. She’ve been a kind 
lady; and the captain he’s a good master — I will 
say that; and I don’t want to hurt ’em.” 

Nobody wants to hurt them; only to do away 
with they machines.” 


THE CARBONELS. 


238 

I tell you what,” was George Truman’s answer, 
'' them machines are the captain’s — none of yours 
nor mine — and I won’t go for to damage ’em. 
No! I won’t have my face blacked nor whited; 
I’m an honest man, and not ashamed to show it. 
So I be going to my work.” 

And off he went to his day’s work at Farmer 
Goodenough’s ; and the others hissed him and 
hooted him, but did him no harm. Nobody made 
such a noise as Softy Sam, and together this fright- 
ened Jem Gibbs out of following him, though he 
much wished to do so. Will Mole, as soon as he 
heard any sounds, ran away headlong down toward 
the meadows and hid himself in the long rushes. 
Cox, the constable, thought discretion the better 
part of valor, and long before the rabble rout ap- 
peared, set off to carry a pair of shoes home to 
Mrs. Pearson at the Lone Farm. 

Master Hewlett, the carpenter, looked in vain 
for John, his apprentice, and growled and grum- 
bled that he did not appear; then, on perceiving 
the uproar, decided that he was gone after that 
there father of his’n.” He wouldn’t have thought 
it of Jack — no, he wouldn’t; but sure enough it 
was “ bred in the bone of him!” Master Hewlett 


JACK SWING. 


239 


went ©n with his planing; and when the troop — 
now amounting to about thirty grown men, besides 
a huge rabble of boys and girls — came along, and 
Dan shouted to him to come and stand up for the 
rights of the people, and down with that there 
“ tyrum Gobbleall ” and his machine to grind down 
the poor, he answered : 

“ Machine ain’t nothing to me. I minds my own 
business, and thou beest a fool, Dan, not to mind 
thine. And where’s that lad of thine? A-trapes- 
ing after mischief, just like all idle fellows?” 

He bain’t a laborer, and has no feeling for 
them as is,” said Dan. ^‘We wants your ax, 
though, George.” 

Not he ! I dares you to touch him,” said 
George Hewlett, in his unmoved way, smoothing 
off a long, curled shaving, which fell on the ground. 
"'There, that’s the worth of you all and your Jack 
Swing ! Swing ye will, Dan, if you don’t take the 
better care.” 

Some one made a move as if to seize the ax ; 
but George made one step and lifted quietly the 
stout bit of timber he had been planing, and it 
was plain that a whole armory of carpenter’s tools 
was on his side the bench. 


240 


THE CARBONELS. 


''Come along,” said Dan; “he’s a coward and 
mean-spirited cur. Us sha’n’t do nothing with he.” 

So on they went, all the kindnesses and bene- 
fits from Greenhow forgotten, and nothing remem- 
bered at the moment but grievances, mostly past, 
but more looked forward to as possible. 

The women did remember. Judith Grey was in 
an agony, praying, as she lay, for Mrs. Carbonel 
and the children. Widow Mole knew nothing, but 
was weeding the paths at Greenhow. Betsy Sed- 
don and Molly Barnes were crying piteously “ at 
thought of madam and her little girl, as might be 
frought to death by them there rascals.” But no 
one knew what to do. Some stayed at home, in 
fear for their husbands ; but a good many followed 
in the wake of the men, to see what would happen, 
and to come in for a little excitement — whether it 
were fright, pity, or indignation. 

“ Ton my word and honor,” said Lizzie Morris, 
“ there will be summat to talk on.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY. 

Who’ll plow their fields? 

Who’ll do their drudgery for them? 

And work like horses to give them the harvest? 

Southey. 

RS. CARBONEL, having seen her two 
little ones laid down for their midday 
nap, was sitting down to write a note 
• to her husband, while Sophia was gone to give her 
lesson at the school, when there came a tap to the 
drawing-room window; and looking up she saw 
Tirzah Todd’s brown face, and her finger making 
signs to her. She felt displeased, and rose up, 
saying, Why, Tirzah, if you want me, you had 
better come to the back door!” 

“ Lady, you must come out this way. ’Tis Jack 
Swing a-coming, ma’am — yes, he is — with a whole 
lot of mischievous folks, to break the machine and 



241 


242 


THE CARBONELS. 


burn the ricks and what not. Hush! don’t ye 
hear ’em a-hollering atop of the hill? They be 
gathering at the ‘Fox and Hounds’; and I just 
couldn’t a-bear that you and the dear little chil- 
dren should be scared like, and the captain away. 
So,” as Mrs. Carbonel’s lips moved in thanks and 
alarm, “ if you would come with me, lady, and take 
the children, and come out this way, through the 
garden, where you wouldn’t meet none of ’em. I’ll 
take you down the short way to Farmer Pearson’s, 
or wherever you like, where you wouldn’t hear 
nothing till ’tis over.” 

“ O Tirzah 1 you are very good. A fright would 
be a most fearful shock, and might be quite fatal 
to my little Mary. But oh, my sister and the 
servants and the Pucklechurches — I can’t leave 
them! ” 

“ My Hoggie was at home with the baby, and 
I sent her off to see Miss Sophy at the school and 
tell her to come up to Pearson’s.” 

“ But the Pucklechurches? ” 

“ Nobody will hurt them ; nobody means to 
hurt you,” said Tirzah — “ I knows that. My man 
wouldn’t ha’ gone with them but so as they prom- 
ised faithful not to lay a finger on you so you give 


GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY. 243 

’em the money and the guns ; but men don’t think 
of the dear little gal as is so nesh, so I thought I’d 
warn you to have her out of the way. Bless my 
heart, they’ll be coming. That was nigher.” 

Mrs. Carbonel’s mind went through many 
thoughts in those few moments. She could not 
bear to desert her husband’s property and people 
in this stress, and yet she knew that to expose her 
tender little girl to the terrors of a violent mob 
would be fatal. And she decided on accepting 
Tirzah’s offer of safety and shelter. She ran up- 
stairs, put on her bonnet, took her husband’s most 
essential papers out of his desk and pocketed 
them, together with some sovereigns and bank- 
notes, then quietly went into the nursery, where 
she desired Rachel Mole to put on her bonnet, 
take up the baby, and follow her, and herself was 
putting on little Mary’s small straw hat and cape, 
telling her that she was coming with mama for a 
walk to see Mrs. Pearson’s old turkey-cock, when 
Mrs. Pucklechurch burst in with two or three 
maids behind her. 

O ma’am. Jack Swing’s coming, and all the 
rabble rout. Whatever shall we do?” was the 
gasping, screaming cry. 


244 


THE CARBONELS. 


Only be quiet. There’s nothing for any one 
to fear. If they do harm, it is to things, not peo- 
ple. I go away only for the sake of this child. — 
No, Mary dear, nobody will hurt you. You are 
going for a nice early walk with mama and baby 
and Rachel. — You ” — to the maids — “ may follow 
if you will feel safer so, but I do not believe there 
is any real danger to you. — Betty Pucklechurch, 
please tell your husband that I do beg him not to 
resist. It would be of no use — his master would 
not wish it ; only if he will take care that the poor 
cuttle and horses come to no harm.” 

He have gone to drive ’em off already to 
Longacre,” said Betty. “ I tell’d he he’d better 
stand by master’s goods ; but he be a man for his 
cows, he be.” 

“ Quite right of him,” said Mrs. Carbonel. 
'‘Have you baby’s bottle, Rachel? — Now, Mary 
dear, here’s your piece of seed-cake.” 

The shouts and singing sounded alarmingly as if 
approaching by this time, and little Mary listened 
and said, “ Funny mens singing.” 

It was very loud as the fugitives gained the 
veranda, where Tirzah waited with an angry light 
in her black eyes. “Oh! won’t I give it to Joe 


GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY. 245 

Todd,” she cried, “ for turning against the best 
friend Hoglah ever had — or me, either.” 

Mary, carrying her little Mary, and trying to 
keep a smile that might reassure her, followed 
Tirzah across the orchard on the opposite side of 
the house. They had to scramble through a gap 
in the hedge. Tirzah went over first, breaking it 
down farther; then the baby was put into her 
arms ; and Rachel came next, receiving Mary from 
her mother, who was telling her how funny it was 
to get over poor papa’s fence, all among the apple- 
trees, and here was Don jumping after them. Don, 
the clumber spaniel, wanted a bit of Mary’s cake ; 
and this, and her mother’s jump down from the 
hedge and over the ditch, happily distracted her 
attention and made her laugh, while the three 
maids were screaming that here were the rascals, 
hundreds of them, a-coming up the drive; they 
saw them over the apple-trees when on the top of 
the hedge, and heard their horrid shouts. “ Oh, 
the nasty villains, with black faces and all!” 

Mrs. Carbonel dreaded these cries almost as 
much as the mob itself for her delicate child, and 
went on talking to her and saying all the nursery 
rhymes that would come into her head, walking 


246 


THE CARBONELS. 


as fast as she could without making her pace. felt, 
though the little maid — albeit small and thin for 
five years old — was a heavy weight for unaccus- 
tomed arms to carry for some distance over a rough 
stubble-field. Tirzah had the baby, who happily 
was too young to be even disturbed in his noon- 
tide sleep ; and Rachel Mole had tarried with the 
other maids, unable to resist her curiosity to see 
what was doing at the farm since they were out 
of reach. 

The fugitives reached a stile which gave entrance 
to a rough pathway through a copse; and it was 
only here, when her mother sat down on the trunk 
of a tree, taking breath with a sense of safety, that 
little Mary began to cry and sob : “ Oh, we are 
lost in the wood! Please, please, mama, get out 
of it! Let us go home!” 

'' No indeed, Mary, we aren’t lost! See, here’s 
the path. We are going to see Mrs. Pearson’s 
pussy-cat and her turkey.” 

I don’t want to. Oh ! the wolves will come 
and eat us up ! ” And she clung round her mother 
in real terror. 

” Wolves! No indeed! There are no wolves 
in England, darling — here or anywhere.” 


GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY. 247 

Rachel said the wolves would come if I went 
in here.” 

“ Then Rachel was very silly. No, there are no 
wolves. No, Mary, only — see! the little rabbit. 
Come along ; take hold of my hand ; we will soon 
get out. Never mind, God is taking care of us. 
Come, we will say our hymn as we go on.” 

The mother said her verse, and Mary tried to 
follow, in a voice quivering with sobs. Those 
imaginary wolves were a far greater alarm and 
trouble to her than the real riot at her father’s 
farm. She clung round her mother’s gown, and 
there was no pacifying her but by taking her up 
in arms. 

“ Let me take her, ma’am,” said Tirzah Todd, 
making over the sleeping Edmund to his mother. 
“ Come, little lady. I’ll carry you so nice.” 

No, no I Go away, ugly woman,” cried Mary, 
ungratefully, flapping at her with her hands, in 
terror at the brown face and big black eyes. 

“ Oh, naughty, naughty Mary,” sighed the 
mother, when Tirzah is so good and wants to 
help you I Don’t be a naughty child 1 ” 

But the word '' naughty ” provoked such a fit 
of crying that there was nothing for it but for 


248 


THE CARBONELS. 


Mrs. Carbonel to pick the child up and struggle on 
as best she could, soothing her terror at the nar- 
row paths and the unknown way and the mysteri- 
ous alarm of the woodlands, as well, perhaps, as 
the undefined sense of other people’s dread and 
agitation. However, the crying was quiet now, 
and the sounds of tumult at the farm were stifled 
by the trees ; so that after a time — which seemed 
terribly long — the party emerged into an open 
meadow, whence they could see the gate leading 
to the highroad, and beyond that the roof of Mrs. 
Pearson’s house. 

But something else was to be seen far up the 
road. There was the flash of the sun from hel- 
mets! The Yeomanry were coming! 

“There’s papa!” cried Mrs. Carbonel — “papa 
in his pretty silver dress. Run on, run on, Mary, 
and see him.” 

Mary was let down, still drawing long sobs as 
she half ran, half toddled on, allowing herself to 
be pulled by Tirzah Todd’s free hand, while her 
mother sped on to the gate, just in time for the 
astonished greeting of one of the little troop : 

“Mrs. Carbonel! What!” 


GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY. 249 

And the next moment her husband was off his 
horse and by her side with anxious inquiries. 

Yes, yes, dear Edmund, we are all safe. Good 
Tirzah came to warn us. Make haste! They 
are at the farm. We shall be at Mrs. Pearson’s. 
She ” — pointing to Tirzah — sent to fetch Sophy 
from school. She’ll be there. Here are the chil- 
dren all safe.” 

Papa, papa,” cried little Mary, feeling his sil- 
ver-laced collar and stroking his face as he kissed 
her. 

And from that time she was comforted, though 
he had to leave her again at once. She had felt a 
father’s arm. 

Tirzah Todd,” exclaimed Captain Carbonel, 
'' I shall never forget what you have done for us 
— never! ” 

Tirzah courtesied, but said, You’ll be good to 
my man, sir?” ^ 

It was but a moment’s halt ere Captain Carbonel 
rode on to overtake the rest of the troop, who, on 
hearing that the outrage was really taking place, 
were riding on rapidly. 

Mrs. Carbonel had not far to go before reaching 


250 


THE CARBONELS. 


the hospitable farm, where Mrs. Pearson came out 
to receive her with many a ‘'Dear, dear!” and 
“ Dear heart! ” and entreaty that she and the dear 
children would make themselves at home. 

But Sophy was not there, and had not been 
heard of ; and Mrs. Carbonel, in her anxiety, could 
not rest on the sofa in the parlor, after she had per- 
suaded little Mary into eating her long-delayed 
dinner of some mutton hastily minced for her, and 
had seen her safely asleep and cuddling a kitten. 
Mrs. Pearson was only too happy to have the baby 
to occupy her long-disused wicker cradle, and Tir- 
zah had rushed off to the scene of action as soon 
as she had seen the lady safely housed. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE MACHINE. 

In bursts of outrage spread your judgment wide. 

And to your wrath cry out, “ Be thou our guide.” 

Wordsworth. 

OPHY was endeavoring to make the 
children remember who Joseph was, 
and thinking them unusually stupid, 
idle, and talkative, when, without ceremony, the 
door was banged open, and in tramped Hoglah 
Todd, with the baby in her arms, her sunbonnet 
on her neck, and her black hair sticking wildly 
out. “ Please, ma’am,” she began, Jack Swing is 
up a-breaking the machine, and mother says you 
are to go to Farmer Pearson’s to be safe out of the 
way ! ” 

'' Hoggie Todd,” began Mrs. Thorpe, “ that’s 
not the way to come into school — ” but she could 
not finish, for voices broke out above the regula- 
251 



252 


THE CARBONELS. 


tion school hush: “Yes, yes, father said,” and 
“ Our Jem said ” ; and it ended in “Jack Swing’s 
a-coming to break up the machine.” Only one 
or two said, “ Mother said as how it was a shame, 
and they’d get into trouble.” 

“Your mother sent you ? ” said Sophy to Hoglah. 

“Yes, ma’am. She’s gone up herself to tell 
madam and take she to Pearson’s, and her said 
you’d better go there, back ways, or else stay 
here with governess till ’twas quieted down.” 

“ Hark ! They are holloing.” 

Strange sounds were, in fact, to be heard; and 
the children, losing all sense of discipline, made a 
rush to snatch hats and bonnets, and poured out 
in a throng, tumbling over one another, Hoglah 
among the foremost. Mrs. Thorpe, much terri- 
fied, began to clasp her hands and say, “ Oh dear! 
oh dear! the wicked, ungrateful men, that they 
should do such things! O Miss Sophy, you will 
stay here, won’t you?” 

“ No ; I must go and see after my sister and the 
children,” said Sophy, already at the door. 

“ But they’ll be at Mr. Pearson’s. The girl said 
so. Oh, stay, ma’am! Don’t venture. Pray, 
pray — ” 


THE MACHINE. 253 

But Sophy had the door open, and with, '' I 
can't. Thank you, no, I can’t” 

There were the confused sounds of howling and 
singing on the top of the hill. Betsy Seddon, at 
her cottage door, called out, “ Don’t go up there, 
miss; it’s no place for the likes of you!” But 
Sophy only answered, My sister,” and dashed 
on. 

She could get into a field of Edmund’s by 
scrambling over a difficult gate ; and, impelled by 
the sight of some rough-looking men slouching 
along, she got over it — she hardly knew how — 
and, after crossing it, came upon all the cows, 
pigs, and horses, with Pucklechurch presiding 
over them. He, too, said, Doan’t ye go up 
there. Miss Sophy. Them mischievous chaps will 
be after them pigs, fools as they be, so I brought 
the poor dumb things out of the way of them ; 
and you’d better be shut of it too, miss.” 

But my sister, Master Pucklechurch I I must 
see to her.” 

She’ll be safe enow, miss. They don’t lift a 
hand to folks, as I’ve heard, but I’ll do my duty 
by the beastises.” 

He certainly seemed more bent on his duty to 


254 


THE CARBONELS. 


the “ beastises ” than that to his wife or his mas- 
ter’s wife ; and yet, when Sophy proved deaf to 
all his persuasions, he muttered, “ Wilful must to 
water, and Wilful must drink. But ah ! yon beast- 
ises be safe enow, poor dumb things, so I’ll e’en 
go after the maid, to see as her runs into no harm. 
She be a fine, spirity maid, whatsome’er.” 

So on he plodded, in the rear of Sophy, who, 
with eager foot, had crossed the sloping home-field 
and gained the straw-yard, all deserted now except 
by the fowls. The red game-cock was scratching 
and crowing there, as if the rabble rout were not 
plainly to be seen straggling along the drive. 

Still there was time for Sophy to fly to the 
house, where, at the door, she met Mrs. Puckle- 
church. 

Bless my soul and honor. Miss Sophy, you 
here! The mistress she’s gone with the children 
to Mr. Pearson’s, and you’ll be in time to catch 
her up if you look sharp enough.” 

“ I shall not run away. Some one ought to try 
to protect my brother’s property.” 

Now, don’t ’ee, don’t ’ee. Miss Sophy. You’ll 
do no good with that lot, and only get hurt your- 
self.” 


THE MACHINE. 


255 


But Sophy was not to be persuaded. She went 
manfully out to the gate and shut it in the face 
of the disguised men, who came swaggering up 
toward it. 

“What’s your business here?” she demanded, 
in her young, clear voice. 

“ Come, young woman,” said a man in a false 
nose and a green smock-frock, but whose voice 
had a town sound in it, and whose legs and feet 
were those of no rustic, “ clear out of the way, or 
it will be the worse for you!” 

“ What have you to do here on my brother’s 
ground?” again asked Sophy, standing there in 
her straw bonnet and pink cotton frock. 

“We don’t want to do nothing, miss” — and 
that voice she knew for Dan Hewlett’s — “ but to 
have down that newfangled machine as takes 
away the work from the poor.” 

“What work of yours did it ever take away, 
Dan Hewlett? ” said she. “ Look here! it makes 
bread cheaper — ” 

She had thought before of the chain of argu- 
ments, but they would not come in the face of the 
emergency; and, besides, she felt that her voice 
would not carry her words beyond the three or 


256 


THE CARBONELS. 


four men who were close to the gate. She might 
as well have spoken to the raging sea when, as the 
gate was shaken, she went on with a fresh start: 

I call it most cowardly and ungrateful — ” 

At that moment she was seized from behind by 
two great brawny arms and borne backward, strug- 
gling helplessly, like a lamb in a bear’s embrace. 
She saw that not only was the gate burst in, but 
that the throng were pressing in from the gar- 
den side ; and she was not released until she was 
set down in Mrs. Pucklechurch’s kitchen, and a 
gruff voice said, rather as if to a little child, “ Bide 
where you be, and no one will go for to hurt 
you.” 

It was a huge figure, with a woman’s bonnet 
stuck upright over his chalked face, and a red cloak 
covering his smock-frock, and he was gone the 
next moment; while Mrs. Pucklechurch, scream- 
ing and sobbing, clutched at Sophy and held her 
tight, with, Now, don’t. Miss Sophy, don’t ye! 
Bide still, I say!” 

“But Edmund’s machine! his things and all!” 
gasped Sophy, still struggling. 

“ Bless you, miss, you can’t do nothing with 
the likes of them, the born rascals! You would 


"THE MA CiilNE. 257 

rhaybe get a stone yourself, and what would the 
master say to that? ” 

“Oh! what arer they doing now?” as a wild 
hurrah arose, and all sorts of confused noises. 
Mrs. Pucklechurch had locked the door on her 
prisoner, but she was equally curious, and anxious 
for her old man ; so with one accord they hurried 
up the stairs together and looked out at an upper 
window, whence they could only see a wild crowd 
of hats, smock-frocks, and women’s clothes gather- 
ing about a heap where the poor machine used to 
stand, and whence a cloud of smoke began to rise, 
followed by a jet of flame, fed, no doubt, by the 
quantity of straw and chaff lying about. Sophy 
and Betty both shrieked and exclaimed ; but 
Betty’s mind was chiefly full of her old man, and 
she saw his straw hat at last. He was standing in 
front of the veranda, before the front door; and, 
as they threw the window open, they heard his 
gruff voice : 

“ Not I. Be off with you I I bain’t a-going 
to give my master’s property to a lot of rapscal- 
lion thieves and robbers like you, as should know 
better.” 

Then came the answer: “We don’t want none 


THE CARBONELS. 


258 

of his property — only his guns and his money for 
the cause of the people.” And big sticks were 
brandished and the throng thickened. 

“ Oh, don’t ye hurt he ! ” screamed Betty — he 
that never did you no harm ! Don’t ye ! O Dan 
Hewlett! Oh— h!” 

Then throw us out the guns, old woman,” 
called up the black-faced figure, “ and we’ll let 
him be.” 

If you do — ” shouted Pucklechurch. And 
then there was a rush in on him, and they could 
see no more, for he must have backed under the 
veranda. Betty made a dash for the front stairs, 
to come to his, help, Sophy after her; but before 
they could even tumble to the bottom, there was 
a change in the cries : 

“ The soldiers ! the soldiers ! Oh — hoo — hoo — 
hoo!” There was a scamper and a scurry, a 
trampling of horses. The two trembling hands, 
getting in each other’s way, unfastened the door, 
which was not even locked, and beheld Puckle- 
church gathering himself up with a bleeding head, 
a cloud of smoke and flame, and helmets and sil- 
ver lace glancing through it. There had been no 
need to read the Riot Act; the enemy were tear- 



THE ARRIVAL OF I HE YEOMANRY 


p. 258 





THE MACHINE. 


259 


ing along all ways over the fields, except a few 
whom the horsemen had intercepted. Dan Hew- 
lett and the black-faced leader, without his long 
nose, were two ; the other three were — among the 
loudest, poor Softy Sam, who had been yelling 
wildly — big lads or young men, one from Down- 
hill, the others nearer home, howling and sobbing 
and praying to be let go. Captain Carbonel’s first 
thought was whether Pucklechurch was hurt; but 
the old man was standing up scratching his head, 
and Betty hovering over him. Then his eyes fell 
on his sister-in-law, and he exclaimed : 

*'You here, Sophy! Your sister is very anx- 
ious!” 

But the fire was by this time getting ahead, and 
no one could attend to anything else. The pris- 
oners were put into the servants’ hall and locked 
in ; the horses were tied up at a safe distance, the 
poor things rearing with alarm at the flame; the 
men were, under Sir Harry Hartman and Captain 
Carbonel’s orders, made to form a line from the 
pond and hand on the pails and buckets that were 
available ; but these were not very many, though 
the numbers of helpers were increased by the 
maids, who had crept back from the orchard, and 


26 o 


THE CARBOHELS, 


by the shepherd, and some even of the mob, con- 
scious that they had been only lookers-on, and 
hadn’t done no harm.” 

It was a dry season, and the flames spread, 
catching the big barn, and then seeming to fly in 
great flakes, like a devouring winged thing, to the 
Pucklechurches’ thatch. Betty and her husband 
flew to fling out their more valued possessions, 
and were just in time to save them ; but thence the 
fire, just as the water in the nearest pond was dry- 
ing up, caught a hold on the dairy and the old 
thatched part of the farm-house. Bellowings were 
heard from the captives that they would be burned 
alive; and some one — it was never known who — 
let them out, for no sign of them appeared when 
all was over, though their prison was untouched by 
the fire. For even at that moment the Poppleby 
fire-engine galloped up the road, and was hailed 
with shouts of joy. It had a hose long enough to 
reach down to the brook in the meadow, and the 
hissing bursts of water poured down did at last 
check the flames before they had done much harm 
to the more modern portion of the house, though 
all the furniture was lying tumbled about in heaps 
on the lawn — Mary’s piano, with the baby’s cradle 


mk MAcmkfk, 


261 


full of crockery on the top of it, and Edmund’s 
writing-desk in the middle of a washing-stand all 
upside down. 

The first thing Edmund did when the smoke- 
wreaths alone were lingering about was to send 
his groom down to the cellar, with a jug in his 
hand, to bring up some beer, which he proceeded 
to hand in the best breakfast-cups to all and sun- 
dry of the helpers, including Sir Harry Hartman, 
Sophy helping in the distribution with all her 
might. 

'‘Miss Carbonel, I think?” said Sir Harry, 
courteously, as she gave him the cup. ” Were 
you the garrison ? ” 

Sophy laughed. “Yes, sir, except old Puckle- 
church and his wife.” 

“ Then I may congratulate you on being the 
bravest woman in Uphill,” said the old gentleman, 
raising his hat. 

It was getting dark, and they had to consider 
what was next to be done. Captain Carbonel 
was anxious about his wife and children, and Sir 
Harry was urging him to bring them to his house, 
while Mr. Grantley, from Poppleby, who had come 
up on the alarm, urged the same upon him. It 


262 


THE CARBONELS. 


ended in a guard being told off, consisting of Cox, 
the constable of Uphill, who had emerged from no 
one knew where, the Downhill constable, and the 
shepherd, with one of the yeomen, who were to 
be entertained by Pucklechurch and the cook, and 
prevent any mischief being done to the scattered 
furniture before morning. The Pucklechurches and 
Mrs. Mole, with Barton, were doing their best to 
bring in and attend to the live stock, all of which 
had been saved by Pucklechurch’s care. 

Then they rode off together, Sophy and the 
housemaid having already started across the fields, 
bearing whatever necessary baggage they could col- 
lect or carry for Mrs. Carbonel and the little ones. 

Mrs. Carbonel was at the door when her hus- 
band rode up, having only just managed to hush 
off her little Mary to sleep, and left her and the 
baby with Rachel Mole to watch over them. Poor 
thing, she had been in a terrible state of anxiety 
and terror for all these hours, so much the worse 
because of the need of keeping her little girl from 
being agitated by seeing her alarm or hearing the 
cries, exclamations, and fragments of news that 
Mrs. Pearson and her daughters were rushing 
about with. 


THE MACH/ AH. 


263 


When she saw him first, and Sophy a moment 
afterward, she sprang up to him as he dismounted, 
and greeted him with a burst of sobs and thankful 
tears. 

“Why, Mary, Mary, what’s this? One would 
think I had been in a general engagement. You, 
a soldier’s wife! No, nobody’s a hair the worse! 
Here is Sir Harry Hartman wondering at you.” 

To hear of the presence of a stranger startled 
Mrs. Carbonel into recovering herself, with, “ I 
beg your pardon,” and her pretty courtesy, with 
the tears still on her face, while the old gentleman 
kindly spoke of the grievous afternoon she had 
had ; and all the time Mr. and Mrs. Pearson were 
entreating him to do them the honor to come in 
and drink a glass of wine — for cake and wine were 
then considered to be t/ie thing to offer guests in 
a farm-house. 

Sir Harry, aware of what farm-house port was 
apt to be, begged for a glass of home-brewed ale 
instead, but came in readily, hoping to persuade 
Mrs. Carbonel to send for the Poppleby post-chaise 
and let him take her and her children home. She 
was afraid, however, to disturb little Mary, and 
Mrs. Pearson reckoned on housing them for the 


264 CAkBONELS, 

night, besides which his park was too far off. So 
it was settled that Sophy, for whom there really 
was no room, should go to Poppleby Parsonage with 
Mr. Grantley for the night ; and she and Sir Harry 
only tarried to talk over the matter and come to 
an understanding of the whole, as far as might be. 

“Who warned you?” asked the captain. 

“ The last person I should expect — TirzahTodd, 
good woman,” said Mrs. Carbonel. “ She came 
and called me, and helped me over the hedges.” 

“ And Hoglah came after me,” said Sophy, 
“ and told me to come here, only I could not.” 

“ You were the heroine of the whole. Miss Car- 
bonel,” said Sir Harry. 

“ Oh, don’t say so ; I didn’t do any good at all,” 
said Sophy, becoming much ashamed of her at- 
tempt at haranguing. “ Old Pucklechurch was 
the one, for he saved all the dear cows and horses, 
and was nearly letting himself be killed in the de- 
fense. But oh, all the rest of them ! To think of 
them treating us so after everything!” 

“ Most likely they were compelled,” said gentle 
Mrs. Carbonel. 

“They will hear of it again,” said Sir Harrj^ 
“ Could you identify them. Miss Carbonel?” 


THE MACHINE. 


265 


“ A good many,” said Sophy, “ though they 
had their faces chalked — that horrid Dan Hewlett 
for one.” 

'' There can be no doubt of him, for he was one 
of the prisoners that got away,” said Captain Car- 
bonel, in a repressive manner, “ He has always 
been a mischievous fellow. But the remarkable 
thing is that it was his son who came to summon 
us this morning — ^John Hewlett, a very good^ 
steady lad. By the by, has any one seen him? 
I sent him home by the Elchester coach. I won- 
der what has become of him.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


MISJUDGED. 

That weary deserts we may tread, 

A dreary labyrinth may thread, 

Through dark ways underground be led. 

Archbishop Trench. 

OOR Johnnie was not very happy at 
that moment. He had descended from 
the coach at Poppleby and set out to 
walk to Uphill, wondering how he should be 
received at his cousin’s workshop. Everything 
seemed strangely quiet as he crossed the fields 
where he had wandered last night, but there were 
now and then far-off echoes of voices and shouts. 
He avoided the village of Downhill, and made 
his way toward the little street and common of 
Uphill; but not a creature could he see except 
Todd’s donkey and a few geese. 

The workshop was shut up ; no one was about 
either there or at the house. He considered a 
266 



MISJUDGED. 


267 


moment whether to try to see what was doing at 
Greenhow, or to go and tell his aunt how he had 
fared, and that he knew the captain must be at 
home by this time. 

He was glad he had decided on the latter, for 
the cottage door stood open, and Judith was sit- 
ting up in bed, her eyes wide open, and her breath 
panting with anxiety and terror. 

O Johnnie, my dear, there you are! Oh, they 
are all gone — the ladies, the dear ladies, and the 
little babies!” she gasped, and fell back almost 
fainting. 

“ The captain is there by this time, and the sol- 
diers — never you fear,” said John. “ Here, you’d 
better take this ” — trying to drop out some of the 
cordial he knew she took in her attacks. 

The soldiers ! Your father — your poor father ! ” 
she gasped again. And she was so ill that John, 
dreadfully frightened, could only hold her up on 
one arm and press the cordial to her lips with the 
other hand. It was an overdose, but that hardly 
mattered; and before very long, just as she was 
beginning to quiet down, there approached a fresh 
sound of screaming, and his mother burst into the 
house. “Oh, my poor man! my poor Dan!” 


268 


THE CARBONELS. 


she cried. “ They have got him ! The soldiers 
have got him!” And, as John was laying down 
his aunt to come and hear, she rushed up the stairs 
with, '' And it is all your doing, you unnatural, 
good-for-nothing varmint! That was what you 
were after all night, you and your aunt, the adder 
that I have warmed at my bosom! Turning 
against your own poor father, to set them bloody- 
minded soldiers on him ! And now he’ll be taken 
and hanged, and I shall be a poor miserable widow 
woman all along of you ! ” 

This was poured forth as fast as the words would 
come out of Molly’s mouth; but before they had 
all streamed forth, Judith was choking in an hys- 
terical fit, so like a convulsion that Johnnie could 
only cry, “Aunt! aunt! Mother, look!” And 
Molly herself was frightened, and began to say, 
“There! there!” while she helped him to hold 
her sister; and little Judy flew off, half in terror 
and half in search of help, crying out that aunt 
was in a fit. 

Help of a certain sort came — a good deal more 
of it than was wanted — and the room was crowded 
up, and there were a good many “Poor dears!” 
“There, nows!” and proposals of burned feathers 


MISJUDGED. 


269 


and vinegar; but Mrs. Spurrell, who was reckoned 
the most skilled in illness, came at last, put the 
others out — especially as they wanted to see about 
their husbands’ teas — and brought a sort of quiet, 
in which Judith lay exhausted, but shuddering 
now and then, and Molly sobbed by the fire. 

John gathered from the exclamations that the 

% 

Carbonel family were safe somewhere, that Miss 
Sophy had gone on like the woman preacher at 
Downhill, that Greenhow had been on fire, but 
nobody was hurt, though the soldiers had ridden 
in upon them “ so as was a shame to see,” and had 
got poor Dan and Ned Fell, and all s^ire locked 
up. 

John was shocked at this, for he had not meant 
to do more than send Captain Carbonel home to 
protect his family, and had not realized all the 
consequences. In a few minutes more, however, 
his father himself tramped in, and the first thing 
he did was to fall on the lad in a fury, grasping 
him by the collar, with horrible abuse of him for 
an unnatural informer, turning against his own 
father, and dealing a storm of heavy blows on him 
with a great stick. Down clattered Mrs. Spurrell, 
asking if he wished to kill his sister-in-law. 


270 ' 


THE CARBONELS. 


A good thing, too — a traitor in one’s house,” 
he burst out, with more raging words and fresh 
blows on poor John, who never cried out through 
all ; but his mother rushed down the next moment, 
crying out that she would not have her son mauled 
and beaten, and laying fast hold of the stick. 

It was turning into a fight between husband 
and wife, and Mrs. Spurred, who had more of her 
senses about her than any one else, called out. 
Off with you, John Hewlett! I’ll tackle ’em!” 

Poor Johnnie had no choice but to obey her. 
Bruised, worn out, hungry, uncertain of every- 
thing, and miserable'about his aunt, he could only 
wander slowly away, feeling himself a traitor. 
He found his way to the workshop, and had jusfe 
thrown himself down in the woodshed when he 
heard his master’s voice calling out ; 

“Who’s there?” 

“ Me! Johnnie! Father’s in a mortal rage with 
me for telling the captain, but I never thought as 
how all the soldiers would come.” 

“ And a very good thing they did, to put a 
stop to such doings as never was,” said Mrs. Hew- 
lett’s voice. “ Bless me, the dear children and the 
ladies might have been burned in their beds!” 


MISJUDGED. 


271 


Come in, Johnnie, and have a bit of supper,” 
said George Hewlett. 

^ And tell us all about it,” said his wife. ' We’ll 
give you a shake-down for the night if you can’t 
go home.” 

John was thankful, and Mrs. Hewlett set before 
him a good meal of bread, cheese, cold bacon, and 
beer ; but he was too dull and dejected, as well as 
much too tired, to be able to talk, and scarcely 
could remember all that had happened. He knew 
it was not manners to put his head down on his 
arms on the table, but he really could not hold it 
up, and he had dozed off almost with the food in 
his mouth. 

Poor chap ! He’s fair worn out,” said the 
elder George. “ Make his bed ready, mother.” 

And when it was ready the younger George 
absolutely kicked him into being awake enough 
to tumble into it. Even then his sleep was for a 
good while tossing, dreamy, and restless; but by 
and by it grew sounder, and he lay so still in the 
morning that his kind hostess hindered her boys 
from disturbing him. He had not long been awake, 
and had only said his prayers and washed at the 
pump, when horses’ feet were heard, and Cousin 


272 


THE CARBONELS. 


George called to him to come out and speak to the 
captain. He came, with hair wringing wet, and 
shy, awkward looks. 

'' My lad,” said the captain, “ I cannot tell you 
how much I thank you for your bravery and spirit 
the night before last. You did me and mine a 
benefit that I shall always remember, though I 
feel it would just be insulting you to offer you any 
present reward. Nor, indeed, could it be sufficient 
for what you have done.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” mumbled John, hardly know- 
ing what he or the captain said. 

And,” added Captain Carbonel, ''your father 
got away. If he is taken, what you have done for 
us may be remembered in his favor.” 

Again John managed to say, " Thank you, sir.” 
And the captain rode off to offer the like thanks 
to Tirzah Todd ; but her cottage was shut up, the 
donkey gone, and she, with her husband and Hog- 
lah, out on a broom-selling expedition. He was 
not clear of the riot, and she did not want him to 
hear her thanked. They must have gone away 
with their gipsy kin, for they never came back 
while the Carbonels were in England ; and only a 
sovereign could be left for them with Mr. Harford, 


MISJUDGED, 273 

who promised to stand Tirzah’s friend if any 
opening for assisting her offered. 

Dan had been told that rioters generally got off 
without difficulty. It was not easy to trace them, 
and their safety was in numbers and their semi-dis- 
guise; and Jack Swing, or the man with the nose, 
had escaped on various similar occasions, wearing 
a different disguise at each place. It had not 
come into their calculations that they had gone so 
far as to rouse the spirit of the landowners, who 
had at first dealt gently with the disturbances, but 
who now felt that strong measures must be taken 
to prevent the mischief from going further. He 
thought himself safe when he had once got away 
from the strong-room at Greenhow, and he was 
slouching about his garden when Cox, the con- 
stable, backed by two stout men, came with a war- 
rant from Sir Harry Hartman for the apprehension 
of Daniel Hewlett for peace- breaking and arson. 
He began to argue that it was not he more than 
any one else, and he hadn’t set fire to nothing; 
but he was told that he must reserve his de- 
fense for his trial, and the handcuffs were put 
on, and he was carried off in a cart, just as John 
was hurrying up the lane, having got leave from 


274 CARBONELS. 

his master to see how his aunt was before begin- 
ning work. 

Molly had seen her husband taken to prison 
before, and she did not realize that this was a 
much more serious affair than were his poaching 
misdemeanors, so that she was not so much over- 
powered as might have been expected ; and, as he 
was taken by the well-known constable instead of 
the soldiers, she did not treat it as John’s fault. 
Besides, she was really afraid of, as she said, “ up- 
setting” Judith by another outcry; so she only 
moaned in a low, miserable voice about what was 
to become of her and her poor children, though, 
after all, what with the parish, Judith’s help, and 
John’s earnings, she would be no worse off than 
was common with her. Jem was supposed to 
'' keep himself,” and only Judy was really on her 
hands. 

She would hardly let her son go up and see 
Judith ; ” Now, you’ll be terrifying of her, and 
she’ll be upset again and holler, and go into a fit.” 

However, he took off his boots and went up 
softly. Judith was all alone, lying still; but he 
had never seen her look half so ill, though she 
opened her eyes and smiled when the creaking 


MISJUDGED. 275 

Stair announced him, and when he bent over her 
she said, “ Dear lad, you bain’t hurt? ” 

“ Oh no ; not at all.” 

“ And the dear ladies are safe? ” 

“ Yes ; Tirzah Todd came and took them away.” 
“Thank God.” 

“ But you are bad, auntie ? ” 

“Oh, never mind. All’s right! You’ve done 
your duty, and I can only thank God for my good 
lad.” 

Her voice grew faint, her eyes closed, and John 
was obliged to go away — but the look of peace 
stayed with him. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


JUDITH. 

And of our scholars let us learn 
Our own forgotten lore. 

Keble. 

ITTLE Mary Carbonel was not the worse 
for all the agitations, from which, indeed, 
she had been so carefully shielded ; but 
her mother was sadly broken down by all she had 
undergone, and likewise by mortification at the 
whole conduct of the Uphill people. After all 
the years that she and her husband and sisters 
had striven for them, it was very hard to find that 
so very few would exert themselves for their pro- 
tection, and that so many would even turn against 
them. It was h^rd to make allowance for the 
bewilderment of slow minds, for sheer cowardice, 
and for the instinct of going along with one’s own 
class of people. She and Sophy prayed that they 
276 



JUDITH. 


277 


might forgive the people, but it was impossible 
just then not to feel that there was a good deal 
to forgive ; and Captain Caiger was always telling 
them that all their trouble came in trying to help 
the good-for-nothing people. 

They had moved into the George Hotel at 
Elchester. It was a good large inn, such as used 
to exist in coaching days, where travelers stopped 
for meals and sometimes spent a night; and the 
rooms were so comfortable that they were glad to 
stay there, while Captain Carbonel could go back- 
ward and forward to make arrangements about the 
repair of Greenhow. Of course, when he came to 
look the place over with a builder from Elchester, 
it turned out that a great deal more was needed 
than simply rebuilding what had been burned ; 
and he was in difficulties about the cost, when an 
offer came which he was glad to accept. 

The Seven Ionian Islands had been put under 
the protection of England since they had been 
set free from the Turkish dominion; and the Gov- 
ernor, Sir Thomas Maitland (King Tom, as he was 
often called), was very active in building, making 
roads, and improving them in every way possible. 
He wanted an English officer to superintend his 


278 


THE CARBONELS. 


doings in the little isle of Sta. Maura; and being 
acquainted with Major ^Sandford, Dora’s husband, 
the proposal was made that Captain Carbonel 
should undertake the work for two or three years, 
bringing out, of course, his family, with a hand- 
some salary. It was a most opportune offer, giv- 
ing him the means of renewing Greenhow, of a 
visit to the sister, and of restoring his wife’s health, 
which had been much tried by her child’s death, 
little Mary’s delicate state, and the alarm of the 
riots. So it was gladly accepted, and the departure 
was to take place as soon as the trials were over. 
For a special commission had been appointed to try 
the rioters ; and poor Sophy was much distressed 
at having so evidently recognized Dan Hewlett, 
when she found that “ rioting and arson ” — that is, 
burning — made a capital offense, so that it was a 
matter of life and death. 

But there was another to whom this same dis- 
covery made a great difference, namely, Dan 
Hewlett himself. When he found that his life 
was at stake he declared himself willing to turn 
king’s evidence, if his pardon were secured to 
him ; and this was really important, as he was able 
to identify Jack Swing, who really was the chief 


JUDITH. 


279 


mischief-maker, being a young clerk whose head 
had been turned by foolish notions about liberty 
for the people, and who really acted more gener- 
ously and with less personal spite than most of his 
unhappy followers. However, Dan was content 
to purchase his own life by denouncing the leader 
whom he had followed ; and he was promised 
safety after the trial should be over, until which 
time he must remain in prison at Minsterham. 

Captain Carbonel had consulted George Hew- 
lett, when arranging the ruins at Greenhow, as to 
what had best be done for John, whose services he 
could not forget. George considered for a night, 
and the next day said : 

“ Well, sir, I beg your pardon, but the best 
thing as could be done with that there John would 
be to put him somewhere to learn the cabinet-mak- 
ing. He is a right sharp, clever hand, and knows 
pretty well all I can teach him ; and he would get 
on famous if he had the chance. And it bain’t so 
comfortable for him here. Some of ’em owes him 
a grudge for bringing the soldiers down on ’em, 
and calls him an informer; and it will be all the 
worserer for him when his father comes home — the 
scamp that he is! I’m ready to wish my name 


28 o 


THE CARBONELS. 


wasn’t the same. Wuss shame by far than to be 
strung up, to turn agin him as he was hand and 
glove with!” 

“ I am quite of your opinion, Hewlett ; and I 
fully think John would be best out of the way, poor 
fellow. I will inquire for a good master for him.” 

Thank you, sir. I would have had the boy 
up to sleep at my place, but he won’t leave his 
poor aunt. He be the chief comfort she has, poor 
thing. But she won’t be here long, anyway ; and" 
if ever there was a good woman, ’tis Judith Grey.” 

It was quite true. Mr. Harford, who had come 
home on Saturday, walked over to Elchester, 
partly for the sake of saying that Judith was cer- 
tainly near the close of her trials, and that it was 
her great wish to see one of the dear ladies again, 
though she durst not ask one of them to come 
into Dan’s house. Indeed, Mr. Harford had only 
drawn the expression of her desire out of her with 
difficulty. 

Mrs. Carbonel was not well enough for a trying 
interview, so it was Sophy who drove from Elches- 
ter with her brother-in-law, grave and thoughtful, 
and only wishing to avoid everybody ; for she 
could not yet forget how no one had shown any 


JUDITH. 


281 


gratitude, nor desire to shield those who had been 
so long their friends. The Elchester doctor had 
been sent to see Judith, and had pronounced that 
the old disease had made fatal progress, acceler- 
ated by the hysterical convulsions caused by the 
night and day of suspense and anxiety, and the 
attack on her nephew, as well as the whole of 
Dan’s conduct. He did not think that she could 
last many more days. 

So Sophy arrived at the well-known cottage, and 
was met at the door by Molly, with her apron to 
her eyes, and a great deal to say about her poor 
sister, and it wasn’t her wish ” ; but Mr. Harford, 
who was on the watch, began to answer her, so as 
to keep her from going upstairs with the visitors. 
Little Judy, now a nice, neat girl of fourteen, was 
sitting by her aunt, but rose to go away when the 
lady came in. 

Judith was leaning against pillows, and the pink 
flush in her cheeks and her smile of greeting pre- 
vented Sophy from seeing how ill and wasted she 
looked, thin and weak as were the fingers that lay 
on the coverlet. 

“Why, Judith, you look much better than I 
expected. You will soon be as well as ever.” 


282 


THE CARBONELS. 


Judith only smiled, and said, “Thank you, 
ma’am. I hope Mrs. Carbonel is better.” 

“ Yes, she is getting better now, and she is very 
sorry not to come and see you ; but perhaps she 
may be able before we go away.” 

“And little Miss Mary, ma’am?” 

“ She has been quite another creature since we 
have been at Elchester — not at all fretty, and al- 
most rosy.” 

“ I am glad. And you are going away, ma’am ? ” 

“Yes; off to a beautiful island in the Mediter- 
ranean Sea, close to all the places where St. Paul 
preached. You know, Dora is at Malta, where he 
was shipwrecked.” 

“Yes, ma’am; I like to know it. You will give 
my duty to her. Miss Sophy, and thank her — oh^ 
so much!” — and Judith clasped her hands — “for 
all she and you and Mrs. Carbonel have been to 
me. You seemed to bring the light back to me, 
just as my faith was growing slack and dull.” 

“ Yes ; I will tell her, Judith. I don’t like leaving 
you, but it won’t seem long till we come back ; and 
we will send you those beautiful Maltese oranges.” 

Judith smiled that beautiful smile again: “Ah, 
Miss Sophy, you have been very good, and helped 


JUDITH. 


283 


me ever so much ; but my time is nearly over, and 
I shall not want even you and madam where I am 
going. I shall see His face,” she murmured, and 
lifted up her hands. 

Sophy was rather frightened, and felt as if she 
had done wrong in talking of oranges. She did 
not know what to say, and only got out something 
about Johnnie and a comfort. 

“Yes, that he is. Miss Sophy, and little Judy, 
too. The boy he is that shy and quiet, no one 
would believe the blessed things he says and 
reads to me at night. He be a blessing, and so 
be Judy, all owing to the Sunday-school.” 

“Oh! to you, Judith. You made him good 
before we had him, though Mary and Dora did 
help,” said Sophy, with rising tears. 

“ And oh! I am so thankful,” she said, clasping 
her hands, “ for what the captain is doing for the 
boy.” 

“ He deserves it, I am sure,” said Sophy. 

“ It will keep him easier to the right way ; and 
it would be harder for him when I am gone and 
his father come home! And Mr. Harford he says 
he will find a good place for Judy. She is a good 
girl — a right good girl.” 


284 


THE CARBONELS. 


That she is.” 

“ And maybe Mrs. Carbonel and you, when 
you come home, would be good to my poor sister. 
She’ve been a good sister to me, she has, with it 
all ; but it has all been against her, and she would 
be a different woman if she could. Please remem- 
ber her,” 

'‘We will, we will, if we can.” 

Then Judith went on to beg Sophy to write to 
her former mistress, Mrs. Barnard, with all her 
thanks for past kindness. That seemed to ex- 
haust her a good deal, and she lay back, just say- 
ing, faintly, " If you would read me a little bit, 
miss.” 

The Prayer-book lay nearest, and Sophy read, 
" Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in 
peace,” as well as she could amid the choking 
tears. She felt as if she were lifted into some 
higher air; but Judith lay so white and still that 
she durst not do more than say, " Good-by, dear 
Judith.” She was going to say, " I will come and 
see you again,” but something withheld her. She 
thought Judith’s lips said, " Up there.” She bent 
down, kissed the cheek, now quite white, and 
crept down, passing Molly at the turn. 


JUDITH. 


285 


Two days later Mr. Harford came to say that 
Judith was gone. Her last communion, with 
Johnnie and with George Hewlett, had been given 
to her the day before, and she had not spoken 
afterward, only her face had been strangely bright. 

The Carbonels could only feel that her remnant 
of life had been shortened by all she had under- 
gone for their sakes, and Edmund and Sophy both 
stood as mourners at her grave, Sophy feeling 
that her life had been more of a deepening, real- 
izing lesson than anything that had gone before, 
making her feel, more than had ever come yet into 
her experience, what this life is compared with 
eternal life. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE GOLDEN CHAINS 

A form unseen is pulling us behind ; 

Threads turn to cords, and cords to cables strong, 

Till habit hath become as Destiny, 

Which drives us on, and shakes her scourge on high. 

Isaac Williams. 

APTAIN CARBONEL lost no time, 
after Judith Grey’s funeral, in sending 
John Hewlett to his new master, Mr. 
Jones. The place was the Carbonels’ old home, 
in a county far away from Uphill. George had 
wished the lad to go to a cabinet-maker whom he 
knew at Minsterham ; but he was convinced by the 
captain’s advice to let him be quite away from the 
assizes, which would not only be pain and shame 
to him, but would mark his name with a brand 
of the same kind as that of an informer. This 
Mr. Jones was well known to the Carbonel family 
as an excellent man — a churchwarden, and sure to 
286 



THE GOLDEN CHAINS. 287 

care for the welfare, spiritual as well as bodily, of 
those commended to him. 

And it happened, not unfortunately for John, 
that, in the captain’s handwriting, his rather un- 
common name was read as Newlett ; and for some 
time after he arrived he never found out the mis- 
take, and was rather glad of it when he did so, 
since no one connected him with the rick-burner 
who gave evidence against his leader. 

Dan himself came home to find that he was 
held in more utter disgrace than for all his former 
disreputable conduct, which only passed for good- 
fellowship. If he had been hanged, or even trans- 
ported, he would only have been ''poor Dan 
Hewlett,” and his wife would have had all the 
pity due to widowhood ; but everybody fought 
shy of him, and the big lads hooted at him. He 
could not get work, Judith’s pension had failed, and 
they lived scantily on what Farmer Goodenough 
allowed Molly to earn, as an old hand, to be kept 
off the parish. Little Judith was apprenticed to 
Mrs. Pearson, according to the old fashion which 
bound out pauper girls as apprentices to service, 
and which had one happy effect, namely, that they 
could not drift foolishly from one situation to an- 


288 


THE CARBONELS. 


other, though, in bad hands, they sometimes had 
much to suffer. But Mrs. Pearson was a kind, 
conscientious mistress, and Judy was a good girl, 
so that all went well. 

Dan slouched about, snared rabbits and hares; 
and drank up the proceeds thereof at little public 
houses where he was not known, or where the 
company was past caring about his doings. At 
last he was knocked down in the dark by the mail- 
coach, and brought home in a cart, slowly dying. 

Mr. Harford came to see him, and found his 
recollections of old times reviving, when he had 
been Dame Verdon's best scholar. “ I could beat 
old George any day at his book. And then I was 
church singer, and had the solos,” he said, evi- 
dently thinking sadly of his better days. “ And 
my wife she was that tidy — only she did put too 
much on her back!” 

The screen, which Judith had of late years kept 
with the panel with the laburnums on the back 
side, had by accident been now turned so that he 
saw them ; and when Mr. Harford came the next 
day he broke out: 

“Them flowers! them flowers, sir!” 

Mr. Harford could not understand. 


GOLDJ^AT CHAtMS, 2S9 

Them golden chains, sir ; they was at the bot- 
tom of it.” 

Mr. Harford understood still less. 

“ They talk of devil’s chains, sir, and how they 
drags a man down. Them was a link, sure enough. 
That paper there, sir, I keeps seeing it at night 
by the rushlight, and they gets to look just like 
chains.” 

Then Mr. Harford understood that he meant 
the laburnums on the paper — golden chains, as 
they are often called. 

“ I was working with George,” he said, “ before 
them Carbonels came, and when there was a piece 
of the parlor paper left over I took it for a par- 
kisit. I didn’t let George know ; he always seemed 
too particular. ’Twas more than I had reckoned 
on ; and one bit I papered Mrs. Hunter’s room, at 
Downhill, with ; and one bit that was left my wife 
put on the screen. Then, when the captain made 
a work about it, I thought it was mean and shabby 
in him, and I never could lay my mind to him or 
his after that — special after Miss Sophy came and 
spied it out. I went agen ’em more and more, and 
all they wanted for the place ; and it riled me the 
more that my lad should be took up with them and 


290 


THE CAkBONELS. 


his aunt. And so the ill will of it went on with 
me, worse and worserer. — Molly, I say, take the 
devil’s chains away. They’ve got a hold of me.” 

That was his delirious cry. Mr. Harford prayed 
with him and for him, but never could tell how 
much was remorse and how much might be re- 
pentance. He was quieter as his strength failed, 
and his wife said he made a beautiful end, and that 
she was sure the holy name of the Saviour was 
on his lips ; and Mr. Harford trusted that she was 
right, with the charity that hopeth all things. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


MISSED AND MOURNED. 

Nor deem the irrevocable past 
As wholly wasted, wholly vain. 

Longfellow. 

E they Gobblealls not coming home?” 
asked Nanny Barton, as she stood at 
her gate, while some of her neighbors 
came slowly out of church, about two years later. 

“ My man he did ask Shepherd Tomkins,” said 
Betsy Seddon, and all the answer he got was, 
‘You don’t desarve it — not you.’ As if my man 
had gone out with that there rabble rout!” 

“ And I’m sure mine only went up to see what 
they were after, and helped to put out the fire 
besides.” 

” Aye,” said Cox, behind her, “ but not till the 
soldiers were come.” 

“ Time they did come ! ” said Seddon. “ Rain 



291 


2g2 


THE CARBONEIS. 


comes through the roof, and that there Lawyer 
Brent won’t have nothing done to it till the cap- 
tain comes home.” 

“Yes,” added Morris, “and when I spoke to 
him about my windows, as got blown in, he said 
‘ cottages were no end of expense, and we hadn’t 
treated them so as they would wish to come back, 
nohow.’ ” 

“Think of their bearing malice!” cried Nanny 
Barton. 

“ I don’t believe as how they does,” responded 
the other Nanny. “ They have sent the coals and 
the blankets all the same.” 

“Bear malice!” said Mrs. Truman, who had 
just walked up. “ No, no. Why, Parson Harford 
have said over and over again, when he gave a 
shilling or so, or a meat order, to help a poor lady 
that was ill, that ’twas by madam’s wish.” 

“ And Governess Thorpe she has the bag of 
baby-linen and half a pound of tea for any call,” 
said Mrs. Spurrell. 

“ But one looks for the friendly word and the 
time of day,” sighed Betsy Seddon. 

“ The poor children they don’t half like their 


MISSED AMD M6UDMDD, 


293 


school without the ladies to look in,” said Mrs. 
Truman. “ It is quite a job to get them there 
without Miss Sophy to tell them stories.” 

'' I can’t get mine to go at all on Sundays,” said 
Nanny Morris. 

And,” added Betsy Seddon, “ I’m right sure 
my poor Bob would never have ’listed for a sol- 
dier if the captain had been at home to make 
Master Pucklechurch see the rights of things and 
not turn him off all on a suddent.” 

Master Pucklechurch he don’t believe they 
are never coming back,” said Widow Mole, who 
had just come that way as an evening walk with 
her children. “ He says little miss, and madam 
too, have their health so much better out there 
that they won’t like to come home. And yet 
they have made the place like a picture. I was up 
there to help Sue Pucklechurch clean it up, and 
’tis just a pleasure to see all the new outhouses and 
sheds, as you might live in yourself, and well off, 
too.” 

And that it should all be for them Puckle- 
churches,” sighed Seddon. 

I heerd tell,” said Mrs. Truman, that Lawyer 


294 


THE CARBONELS. 


Brent was to come and live in the house, and that 
was why they are making it so nice.” 

On this there arose a general wail of lamentation, 
and even of indignation. Nobody loved Lawyer 
Brent, who was a hard, if a just, man, Anxious for 
his employer’s good, but inclined, in spite of all 
cautions, to grind the tenants. To hear of his 
coming to Greenhow was dismal news to all con- 
cerned, and there was such a buzz of doleful in- 
quiries that Mr. Harford stopped on his way home 
to ask what was the matter. 

'' Oh no,” he said, when he heard. Captain 
and Mrs. Carbonel are coming home in the spring ; 
only they wished to travel slowly, so as to see 
something of foreign parts. You need not be 
afraid. We shall have them back again, and I 
hope nobody will be as foolish as before. I am 
sure they have quite forgiven.” 

And on a fine spring day the bells were ring- 
ing at the church, and everybody stood out at the 
cottage doors, courtesying and bowing with delight 
and welcome ; and Mrs. Carbonel and Miss Sophia 
and Miss Mary looked rosy, healthy, and substan- 
tial, and even little Master Edmund was laughing 
and nodding, and looking full of joy ; while the 


MISSED AMD MOURNED. 


295 


captain walked up with Mr. Harford, and greeted 
every one with kindly, hearty words. No one 
could doubt that they were glad to be at home 
again, and, after all that had come and gone, that 
they felt that these were their own people, whom 
they loved. v 


CONCLUSION. 


The work be Thine, the fruit Thy children’s part. 

Keble. 

OOK at Uphill Priors in the year 1880. 
Here are the mothers coming out of the 
mothers’ meeting. They look, in their 
neat hats and jackets, better on this week-day 
than any one would have done on Sunday sixty 
years ago. They are, many of them, the grand- 
daughters, or grandsons’ wives, of the inhabitants 
in those old times ; but they have not the worn, 
haggard faces that their parents had when far 
younger, except one or two poor things who have 
drunken husbands. Miss Carbonel (young Miss 
Carbonel) and the vicar’s wife have been working 
with them, and reading to them things that the 
Bettys and Nannys of those days would not have 
understood or cared for. 

The white-haired lady who stops her donkey- 
chaise to exchange some affectionate, kindly words 
296 



CONCLUSION. 


297 


and give out a parcel or two — she is Miss Sophia ; 
and those elderly women who cluster round for a 
greeting — they are her old scholars. Those black 
eyes are Hoglah’s; that neat woman is Judy. 
Yes, she has lived among them and worked among 
them all her life, never forgetting that “ no good 
work can be done without drudgery.” She has 
her Girls’ Friendly Society class still in her own 
little house, though she has dropped most of her 
regular out-of-door work of late years. For the 
vicar — there is a vicar now — and his daughters 
teach constantly in the schools. The children are 
swarming out now, orderly and nice, even superior 
in appearance to some of the mothers they run up 
to ; and as to learning, the whole parish can read 
and write, and the younger ones can send out a 
letter that would be no disgrace to a lady or a 
gentleman. 

There is a machine, with its long tail of spikes, 
coughing along as it blows off the steam at Farmer 
Goodenough’s. No one dreams of meddling with 
it to do any harm. Wages are better, food is 
cheaper, and there are comforts in the house of 
every one tolerably thrifty that the grandmothers 
look at as novelties. John and George Hewlett, 


298 


THE CARBONELS. 


carpenters and builders, have a handsome shop 
and large workshop in the street. 

All this has come in the way of gradual change, 
brought about, not by rioting, but by the force of 
opinion and the action of those in authority. 

But how have people been fitted to make a good 
use of these things — not to waste them, but to use 
them as God’s good gifts ? There has been a quiet 
influence at work ever since '' they Gobblealls ” 
came up the roughness of the lanes, and Mary’s 
Approach ” was given up. 

Captain Edmund and Mary his wife lie in their 
quiet graves, but the work they did — by justice, 
by kindness, by teaching, by example — has gone 
on growing; and Miss Sophia looks at it and is 
thankful, as she still gives her best in love and ex- 
perience to the young generation who are with her 
and look up to her for help and counsel. 

The church is beautiful now, not only to look 
at, nor merely in the well-performed music of the 
services, but in the number and devotion of the 
worshipers and communicants. Of course all is 
not perfect in the place — never, never will it be so 
in this world ; but the boys and youths can be, and 
often are, saved from a fit of thoughtless heathen- 


CONCLUSION. 


299 


ism by their clubs and their guilds, and the better 
families are mostly communicants. Blots there 
are, and the vicar sometimes desponds when some 
fresh evil crops up; but Miss Sophia always tells 
him to hope, and that 

V 

The many prayers, the holy tears, the nurture in the Word, 
Have not in vain ascended up before the gracious Lord. 







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